


The Hardest Thing is Living

by judithyaffa



Series: Hungry Things [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Buffy/Supernatural Crossover, Gen, Ghost Bobby, hallucination Lucifer, season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithyaffa/pseuds/judithyaffa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy meets Sam and Dean at a bar. All of them are in need of some comfort. Guest-starring Hallucination Lucifer and Ghost Bobby. Set in Season 7 of Supernatural, right after 7X11 ("Adventures in Babysitting") and 8 years post season 7 of Buffy. A birthday fic for LaedieDuske (http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2543659/LaedieDuske).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Need of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday story for LaedieDuske. Hon, I know some of this is sad, but it's also uplifting. A strange mix of angst and humor. Hope you like it.
> 
> Thank you to Amber and to the FICWISE Writing Group for all your help on this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy's day had been pretty bad. Will Sam be able to cheer her up?

Buffy meets Sam and Dean at a bar. All of them are in need of some comfort. Guest-starring Hallucination Lucifer and Ghost Bobby. Set in Season 7 of Supernatural, right after 7X11 ("Adventures in Babysitting"). This is 8 years post-Buffy. So it's been 10 years since her death leap. Gen, no pairings (yet).

X X X

Chapter One

Buffy let the amber whiskey slide down her throat, wrinkling her nose and gasping at the burn. It wasn't her usual fruity cocktail, but tonight the potent whiskey seemed more appropriate.

It hadn't been a good day.

She stared into the shot glass. The color of the liquid was like honey, but it seemed washed out to her. None of the colors here were vivid enough, not bright enough or dark enough or deep enough.

It wasn't just the colors. It was everything. The sounds, the music. Something was missing. Something she'd had once... before she was pulled out.

Pulled back here. Back to this life, this pain.

She stared at the whiskey in disappointment. It wasn't doing what she'd hoped. It wasn't numbing her or making her forget.

"So... did you figure out the secret yet?"

Startled, she looked up, to see a tall guy with brown hair and sideburns, a touch too long. She almost had to crane her neck to see him. She was a bit annoyed...she really didn't want to make small talk right now.

"What?" she asked, letting her irritation show. She deliberately turned back to her drink, hoping Gargantuan would get the clue.

"You were staring so hard at the whiskey, I figured it was telling you some deep, dark secret. Something not for us mere mortals." She noticed his hands, large and calloused, when he gestured at her drink, but it was his voice, soft and kind, that made her look at him again.

Buffy let out a little snort. "Been a while since I've been called that."

"What, a mere mortal? Or a secret keeper?" He smiled. "Is this seat taken? You look like you could use some company."

 _Secrets_ , she thought. _So used to keeping secrets._ She couldn't keep a lid on one secret, the biggest secret of all. And she'd paid the price.

 _But at least Dawn didn't have to... Her sister didn't have to die._ She could have borne everything but that.

"I'm not very good company," Buffy admitted. "Not tonight." She'd already decided this guy wasn't a pickup artist, though he was kind of cute. But so tall. _God, what did they feed him growing up, some kind of super-spinach?_

"Well, as it happens, neither am I," he said. It had only been a few weeks since Bobby had breathed his last. The pain was still sharp, muting everything else. He found it hard to move sometimes, to get up and hunt.

 _And it's worse for Dean,_ Sam thought, but shoved that thought aside. His brother was over there, drowning his sorrows, and he'd made it clear that he didn't want Sam's help right now. But here was someone who looked like she needed comfort. Maybe he could help her, even if he couldn't help Dean. He didn't know why, but he thought she looked like someone who smiled and laughed a lot. Normally.

 _"Sure, help her."_ That sarcastic edge, that grating voice... coming right from the stool he was about to sit on. _"After all, you couldn't help Bobby, and you certainly can't help Dean or yourself..."_

Sam's heart sank but he refused to look at the stool, focusing instead on the girl. Lucifer was not here. He was not real. He was still back in the cage, in Hell.

_"That's right, Sam. You're still in Hell. Glad you finally admitted it."_

"Misery loves company?" The woman smiled sadly. "I can relate. Sure, sit down... I didn't catch your name?"

 _You're not here. You're not here._ Sam thought furiously. _This is all in my head._

 _"Oh, I most certainly am here,"_ whispered Lucifer. _"But go on, delude yourself. You're just so good at it."_

Sam ignored the devil in his head and smiled at the blonde. "Sam," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Buffy." She smiled at Sam. Her hand seemed tiny when placed in his, but he seemed warm, comforting. She almost didn't want to let go.

Sam's smile got wider when he sat down on the stool, with no one under him. El diablo stumbled off the seat as if Sam had shoved him. _It's my head, Lucie. My rules. You're not needed here._ For good measure, Sam clenched his left hand, chafing at the wound on his palm. The half-healed wound that he kept reopening.

The pain seemed to do the trick. The devil disappeared in a shower of snow, like a bad television special effect.

"Hey, Tony!" Buffy called to the bartender, finally realizing she'd been holding Sam's hand a bit too long. She reluctantly dropped it and cradled her glass like it was precious. "Another one for me. And whatever Sam here wants. Put it on my tab."

"Thanks," Sam said. "I'll have a whiskey." He looked at Buffy, wondering what her story was. What had put that weight on her shoulders?

"So... what brings a superhero like you down to Earth to hang with us mere mortals?" Sam joked. He really wanted to ask, "Wanna talk about it," but he felt like this woman kept things close to the vest. If she wanted to open up, she would. If she didn't, well... she could take the easy way out and keep it light.

She looked at him, startled, a little suspicious at how close to the truth he'd come. But then, she realized, he was just making a play on the words "mere mortal". He couldn't know who she really was. The events this year had just made her really paranoid... She raised her glass, now full-to-the-rim with whiskey. "First, a toast."

He looked at her quizzically, but picked up his own glass and clinked hers.

"To Heaven," she whispered.

"To Heaven," he echoed, and waited for her to explain.

X X X

Dean sat, hunched over, a few feet away from his brother, sipping from Bobby's whiskey flask. He hadn't even bothered to order shot glasses, just asked them to give him a bottle. He was on his second bottle tonight, and his third refill of the flask. The numbness was welcome, even if it didn't really help. He knew he'd wake up with a splitting headache in the morning and nothing would change. But drowning his sorrows was the only way he could keep going, to find some way to mute the pain of this harsh world.

He was only slightly aware of Sammy talking to that cute blonde he'd noticed when they came in. Good for Sammy. Might as well see one Winchester get some action tonight. It wouldn't be him; his heart just wasn't in it.

Not in the chase, not in the game. If he had to be honest, it'd been like that since those damn Leviathans had come on the scene, killing Cas. Murdering the closest thing to a brother he'd had that wasn't his own blood. And now they'd murdered Bobby as well.

 _And I couldn't do a damn thing about it._ He'd been useless. Too late to save Cas, too late to do anything but sit around while Bobby died in a hospital bed. Too stupid to figure out why Bobby wrote those numbers on his hand, the last thing he'd done before he died. It was Frank, the crazy sonofabitch, the paranoid mofo who barely knew Bobby, who'd figured out they pointed to an empty field in Wisconsin.

Dean winced. Always knew he wasn't the smart one in the family. But even college-educated Sam hadn't figured that one out.

 _Bobby, what's so important about that field? Wish I could talk to you..._ So often in the weeks since Bobby's death, he'd longed to talk to the man who'd been like a second father to him. He _felt_ him. Like Bobby was still here, hadn't moved on. But he knew that couldn't be true. They'd burned Bobby's bones.

The whiskey hitting his stomach felt like the fire incinerating Bobby's bones. And like fuel poured on a fire, it ignited the anger that Dean had been trying to ignore - the white hot rage he'd been trying to dull since he came into this bar. Rage at Bobby for dying and leaving them fatherless. Rage at whatever stupid fate or power had decreed it was Bobby's time. Rage at himself for failing Cas and Bobby, for not being the brother and son he should've been.

X X X

Bobby Singer stood right next to Dean and waved his hand in front of the man's face. Of course he got no reaction. _Dammit, boy. Why don't you see me? Fought that reaper so I could help ya. Fat lot of good that's done._

He'd been sure that Sam would've sensed him, with that fool psychic talent of his. Not that he'd used it much since the start of the Apocalypse, but still... Seemed Sam wasn't tuned to the psychic mojo like he used ta be. He was locked in some kind of zen mode on one hand, placid and stoic, and fighting some kind of internal battle with Lucifer on the other. Oh, Bobby knew that Sam was grievin'. He was just quieter about it, tryin' to be strong for his brother. He knew these boys better than they knew themselves. He'd had a hand in raisin' 'em, after all, pickin' 'em up when John couldn't handle things, or just when the man needed a break. Or when the man dropped the ball and left 'em to fend for themselves, like stray kittens left out in the storm. There were times when he'd cursed John Winchester for a fool, puttin' revenge above his own flesh and blood.

He shook himself out of his reverie. He had a stronger chance of gettin' through to Dean. The boy had his flask, so they were already connected. But it took so much energy just to do little things like drinking Dean's beer. He hadn't yet been able to move things or write on walls, or do anything that would remotely communicate with the boys.

 _Some help you are,_ he told , there had to be a way to let the boys know he was here, ready to help. To get revenge on Dick Roman. To make sure the asshole was killed or stuffed back into purgatory, where he belonged. The frustration of inaction, the need for revenge, boiled up in Bobby like magma building up in a volcano, and he felt the urge to kill something.

Bobby damped down the urge. He would not become a murdering spirit. He was here to help the boys, that was all. He looked at Dean. The boy was sulking in his alcohol. How could he reach him, let him know he hadn't moved on?

_Thought I taught you better than this, boy. Where's your gumption?_

X X X


	2. Dean Shows Some Gumption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Buffy and Sam talk of Heaven and Earth, and Dean shows some gumption. But will Bobby approve?

Sam looked at Buffy, who drank the whiskey in one gulp, then made a face as if she really couldn't stand the stuff. She giggled, a bit hysterically. "Heaven…where everything's perfect. Perfect peace. Perfect calm. No doubts at all."

"You sound like someone who's been there," he said, then thought better of it. Because to anyone but a Winchester, that was crazy talk.

"No...no..." she looked at him a bit wide-eyed. "I mean, how would I know? Just, y'know, what we learned in Sunday school."

"And you're full of doubts..."

"Just...when you lose as many people as I have...you start to wonder. What's it all for?"

"I'm sorry..." he said, putting his hand on her arm. A light touch, meant to comfort. He felt a small flicker of current, a tiny thrill, at his fingertips, and pulled away.

"It's okay," she said. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Cause I like to listen?"

She looked in his eyes, as if testing him, seeing the warmth and concern there. He really was cute. She wondered if she'd met him before. She couldn't shake the feeling... There was something familiar about his face.

"Have I met you before? I just feel like I've seen you somewhere."

"No," he assured her. "I just have that kind of face... I'm always getting that question from people."

She looked down again, at her shot glass, letting the feeling go. She trusted him, she wasn't sure why. "In Heaven, there would be...no doubts. No worries. No loss."

"No growth," he countered. "No new possibilities."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But... she was so young. Barely 14. And I should have been there but... I decided to take a vacation, y'know? Get into the normal life. Get away from the responsibilities."

 _Her name was Stephanie. Stephanie Thompson._ She felt the bitter anger wash through her again. 

"I've been there." He sounded rueful, and she looked up to catch a wistful expression flicker through his eyes. "Wrote the book." He chuckled wryly. "It never seems to happen for me, either."

She wondered what his excuse was. How come he didn't have a normal life? He wasn't a slayer. "So you know what I mean... you try to strike out on your own, but something always pulls you back in."

"Yeah." He paused, as if weighing his next words. "So this girl. I take it she didn't make it?"

"No. She's in a better place. And... I envy her."

"You don't mean that."

"Sure I do. Cause if I were up there, I know I wouldn't have these questions. Like... is there something I could've done to save her?"

"The guilt, huh?"

"It's a mother."

He paused, unsure what to say. _She sounds like Dean._ "I'm really not sure what to say... " he admitted. "You sound like you feel responsible for this girl's death. Did you kill her yourself?"

She gave him a look that called him crazy. "What?! No, of course not." She sounded insulted.

"Didn't think so." He swished his drink around like he was trying to read the secrets of the dregs, then looked back up at her, his earnest hazel eyes boring into hers. "What you need to understand, Buffy, is you have no control over what anyone else does. You can't save them all."

She bit back a retort, shaking her head. "But they're my responsibility... I was the first..."

Sam laughed. Buffy looked at him, incredulous. "Sam?!" _Is he laughing at me?_ She could take anything but that.

"No...no..." He reached out and took her hand. "I'm not laughing at you. Not at all. It's just..."

She waited expectantly while he got himself under control.

"Who knew that I would run into someone just like my brother?" He pointed over to a guy a few seats away. "See that guy over there?"

She looked. The guy didn't have the same long hair that Sam did, it was more of a crew-cut, military style. If possible, he was giving more attention to his drink than she had, and there was a darkness about him. It was making her slayer-sense go tingly. She wasn't empathic, not like Willow or Dawn, and yet she could sense it.

But there was something else...

"Yeah..." she muttered, taken aback because she could have sworn she saw a glimmer of something, a flash - of a blurry face - next to the man. But when she blinked her eyes, it was gone.

 _I must have imagined that_ , she told herself. _Too much whiskey._

"That's my brother," Sam was saying."My 'carry-the-weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders, keep-it-all-in-until-it-explodes' big brother. It's just... your description of the guilt...you sound so much like him."

"Really?" She turned back to Sam. "And what is he keeping in?"

"We recently lost someone very close to us... well, two someones, but I think it's the latest loss that's really hurting him."

"Family member?"

"He was like our foster dad. Took care of us like one."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well... he's been like this since Bobby died, but he won't talk about it. I figured, maybe if I got him out to a bar... I don't know." Sam sighed. "Doesn't seem to be working."

She saw the flash of pain in Sam's eyes. "Hey," she said, "You can't blame yourself. You're trying..."

"It's like... he can't bear to let go, like he can't admit Bobby is dead."

"Not letting go... Boy, do I know what that's about." She wasn't looking at Sam anymore, staring at the bar, like she was in a faraway place, remembering something she'd rather not. He waited, growing a little uncomfortable with the silence but unsure how to break it. After a moment, she pulled out of her fugue and looked up at Sam. "So... what does your brother like to do? Maybe we can find some way to cheer him up."

She got up and turned towards Sam's brother. And stared at an empty stool.

"Um... That would work, if your brother were here."

The raised voices from the other end of the bar told Sam all he needed to know.

"Oh God... I should've known." He swore. "Can't take him anywhere!"

"What's he doing?" she wondered.

"What he does best... finding trouble."

X X X

Dean welcomed the blinding rage filling his soul. He'd been trying not to give into the anger, trying to go on, like he knew Bobby would want him to. But pushing off the feelings and burying them in alcohol wasn't helping. The whiskey didn't do jack for him, though it wasn't for lack of trying. He was almost finished with his second bottle and only now felt the buzz. That tolerance he'd inherited from his dad could be a real pain-in-the-ass.

So maybe he could make the anger work for him. He stood up, a bit unsteady. He just needed to find someone's ass to kick... maybe a good game of cards to win.

That was it, he could trounce some sonsofbitches at poker. Put this rage to some use. And if he got into it with some sore loser, well...even better. He ignored the voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Sammy) telling him they were trying to keep a low profile.

Dean made his way over to the poker table in the back, a superior smile on his face. "Hey, I heard there was a game over here?" He slurred his speech deliberately and put a wobble in his step. "Any chance of you dealing me in?"

"Don't think you're in any condition, _Tex_ ," the man with the stetson warned. "'Sides, we don't play with drunken pricks." His snide, condescending voice grated on Dean's nerves. He was gonna play the naive innocent, but for this asshole, he'd switch to obnoxious.

"I'll decide when I'm in condition to play, asshole," Dean protested. "I know what I'm doing. Deal me in!"

"I'm gonna enjoy takin' your money, jackass," the cowboy warned. "Sit down and shut up."

And the games began...

X X X

Bobby had been concentrating for close to an hour, but nothing he did made a difference. It was exhausting. What did a ghost have to do to get some action in this joint?

When Dean finally made a move and got up, Bobby could have cheered, until he saw Dean's face. "Idjit!" he muttered. "I'm surrounded by idjits!" It was Dean's angry face. The boy had been sulking in his whiskey all evening and now he was set to go off like a firecracker.

"Crap," Bobby sputtered, tagging along behind him and hoping he could get Dean out of whatever trouble he was getting into. "Where are you, Sam?" And then he spotted Sam, talking to that blonde over in the corner, neither of them noticing that Dean had gone AWOL. "Now you find a girl to moon over? Timing, Sam..." he sighed.

Well, he'd have to see what this old ghost could do. There was some spirit left in him yet, or his name wasn't Bobby Singer.

X X X


	3. Chaos, Thy Name is Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean makes a big impression on Buffy...and the bar

The game was almost over when Sam appeared with his babe. Dean'd played the idiot for a round but had more than made up for it, and was raking in the chips. Of course, Sam sounded mad. Obnoxiously mad. So predictable, his emo brother.

"Dean!" Sam called. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like, bitch?" Dean smiled at his brother, even as he let himself speak slowly, like he was wasted. "Playing!"

Sam wanted to smile but he didn't dare. His brother was back in true form, hustling - which was a damn sight better than the continuous drinking he'd been doing before. But he couldn't let on that this was all an act.

"Dean, do you really think this is smart?" He sounded worried. "I mean, you're not in the best state of mind. Besides... we're supposed to be keeping a low profile." That last part actually was a concern. With the Leviathans on the loose and their real names a matter of police record, they couldn't afford to show up on the radar. Even if the cops did think they were dead...

"Don't worry 'bout it, Sh...ammy, I'm doin' fine."

Sam thought his brother was overdoing the lisping just a little. Too over the top and people at the table might sniff out a setup.

 _"Thought you were the one with the brains, Sammy,"_ quipped the devil, his smirking face popping up by the table. " _Doesn't take a lot to see that Deano here can't be left to drink in public. Who knows what he'll do?"_

"Shut up," Sam muttered, glaring at Lucifer. _"_ Stay out of this." He stuttered, "I mean... It's time to go home, Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrows, almost forgetting to slur his speech. "You feeling okay, Sam? 'Cause I'm about to pound this asshole into the ground and blow this joint. So you can stop mothering me."

"Yeah, Sammy, like he said, he's doing just fine," drawled the cowboy with the stetson. "He's an adult... even if he's an arrogant, obnoxious SOB."

"From where I'm standing, the same description could apply to you," piped up Buffy. "Or do you always enjoy taking advantage of drunken men?"

Dean looked over at her appreciatively. She flushed. This man was hot. Almost as hot as his brother. But this guy was no keeper. A player, a pick-up-artist, if she had him pegged right, and a con man as well. One glance from Dean and she felt like she'd been undressed right there on the floor.

_Sam and Dean... Sam and Dean... where had she heard those names before?_

She put it out of her head because cowboy guy was bristling. "Are you challenging my masculinity?"

"If the shoe fits," Dean quipped. "I can tell this hot, luscious babe just doesn't turn you on. But if men get you hot under the collar..."

"Dean..." Sam groaned, knowing that his brother was spoiling for a fight, and hoping to get it. Buffy just glared at Dean, not knowing whether to be insulted or flattered that he called her a "hot, luscious babe." _Were these two really brothers?_

The man stood up. "I didn't come here to be insulted!"

"Where do you usually go?"

"Now what the hell is your problem?" muttered one of the other men at the table, jumping up irritably.

Dean put down a straight flush and smirked. "And now you can tell your friends you've been beaten by God's gift to women." He started raking the money in with both hands, as if he were trying to gather it up before the shit hit the fan.

It happened quickly. Cowboy threw a punch at Dean, who ducked; his neighbor got hit. Soon the fists and chips were flying, and it was every man for himself. Buffy and Sam were caught in the crossfire. Sam was fighting back to back with Dean and Buffy was backing him up, even though she thought his brother totally deserved everything these yahoos dished out. The man was just asking for it.

"Sweetheart, you might wanna let the professionals handle this," Dean advised. "Get outta here. Sammy and I'll cover you."

"Sam, your brother is a Neanderthal!"

Sam laughed. "This is one of his good days!"

Dean snorted. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Where do you get off calling me a bitch, Jackass?" she snapped, as she ducked, avoiding the meaty fists of some drunken guy whose bad breath made her want to hurl.

"Listen, sister, I wasn't -" Dean protested, but Sam cut him off.

"Buffy, he was talking to me, not to you."

"He was talking to you..." She tried to wrap her head around that as she took care of halitosis guy. "Bitch" and "Jerk". Names that, from anyone else, would be an insult. To two brothers who were obviously close, it meant something entirely different. She grinned, remembering a lifetime of verbal sparring with Dawn.

Dean's next comment took away any good feeling this comparison might have generated.

"Buffy?! Her name is Buffy?" Dean sounded like he was about to bust his gut laughing. "Who the hell names their kid Buffy? The Howells from Gilligan's Island?"

"Shut your brother up, Sam, before I do it myself."

"Like you can take me, Princess."

She glanced sideways at the boys, observing them in her peripheral vision. They moved like fighters who had been trained to combat, efficient and strong, not like civilians. They reminded her of Riley. They had completely different styles, Sam's obviously influenced by his greater height and broader physique. _Where did they serve?_ she wondered. She was beginning to think that Dean wasn't as drunk as he was letting on, either.

And they were both trying to protect her, to take the hits for her. Despite her growing irritation with Dean, she found it sweet. _They don't know who I am. I'm just a girl who got involved in their fight. And they're trying to protect me._ But Buffy wasn't some helpless girl, and they needed to know that. She decided to show them up a bit, twisting a man's arm behind his back and slamming him on the table.

"I can take care of myself," she declared, shooting a look at Dean that dared him to disagree. "And I can make you eat this fist, Jackass. Try me."

"Well don't go all Supergirl on me," Dean said, punching the next guy who popped up in the face. "Where are all these people coming from? I thought this bar was empty."

When her favorite pink angora top got stained with blood, Buffy glared directly at Dean. This really was his fault. She'd come here to get away from it all; she hadn't intended to get into a brawl tonight. Did she have to destroy _every_ outfit she owned? This one was bought with council money, but still, it would have to be dry-cleaned, and blood was _so_ hard to get out. _At least it's not demon guts._

But part of her was excited, aroused. Maybe Faith was right - there was nothing like a knock-down, drag-out bar fight to make you feel alive.

X X X

tbc


	4. Dance with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Sam dance with the devil in a big bar fight?

Bobby flinched as bodies slammed through him. He still wasn't used to this spirit gig - going through things might be easy but he still thought of himself as having a body. And here were the boys, in a damn fool bar fight, and he felt all but useless. Couldn't throw a friggin' punch.

Deep in thought, he glanced at Sam's face and did a double-take.

 _Crap, Sam's in trouble._ Sam looked like he was struggling with more than the fight in front of him. His aim was off and he was looking confused. Bobby'd give good money that the boy was having hallucinations again. _Rotten timing!_

* * *  
Sam was back in Hell. Not burning, no...that would have been easier to bear.

Lucifer loved to play with the mind. 180 years with the Devil had brought that lesson home. Tonight was no exception.

He knew this wasn't really Lucifer. It was a pale imitation of the real thing, spawned by Sam's Hell-torn mind. Just two months ago, back in an empty warehouse, he'd seen Lucifer's face in place of his brother's. He'd almost shot Dean. He'd almost killed himself because the one thing he couldn't bear was going down below. Or finding out he'd never left.

Now he was seeing his brother's face everywhere he turned. Every person in the bar wore Dean's face. Which made it damn hard not to hit his brother.

And in his mind, Lucifer was laughing.

Sam faltered, and his hands hung loosely at his sides, unwilling to injure his brother. He squeezed his hand but the pain didn't help this time. Everyone was Dean.

* * *  
Dean had gotten separated from Sam and was busy giving as good as he got. Then someone shoved him and almost spun him around completely. He thought he heard a clearly distinct "Idjit! Look after your brother!"

_Don't be stupid. Bobby's dead._

And then Dean saw Sam. Barely defending himself, his brother's face was full of pain. The anguish on Sam's face could spur Dean to move like nothing else in this world.

"Sam!" Dean pushed through the crowd, instinct and sheer anger giving weight to his fists. Buffy was close behind.

X X X


	5. Can't Figure 'em Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the dust settles, much puzzlement abounds…

The sound of a breaking bottle brought Sam back to consciousness, echoing in his already aching head. "Listen up, assholes! I've called the police." Sam blinked, feeling woozy and limp, like an overcooked noodle. He turned his head slowly, following the sound to its source. The blurry figure barely came into focus but it sounded like the bearded bartender who'd served him earlier. _What was his name? Tony..._

He blinked again. Bearded, square shoulders... Not Dean.

Sam heard the sounds of people running though he couldn't see what was going on. But he felt calloused fingers stroking his head, feeling him over for damage. "Sam. You're up." He'd never been so glad to hear his brother's voice. He stared into green eyes filled with concern and worry. Dean was leaning over him and there were several fresh bruises on his face. Sam looked around, seeing lots of people out for the count - the words _knocked unconscious_ flitted through his aching head. But none of those people looked like Dean.

"Thank God," he murmured, happy that there was only one Dean in the room. The thought of more than one Dean Winchester... _God, I'm not sure I'd survive._ A dozen brothers pranking him, baiting him, calling him a girl, hitting on every woman they saw. Taking care of him, even when he didn't want to be mothered.

Sam laughed, a hysterical sound.

"You're laughing?! What just happened here, Sam?" His brother was pissed.

"We don't have time for this," snapped Buffy. "Dean, we need to get outta here, unless you want a trip to the station house."

She was glad that Sam seemed better. When he'd freaked out in the fight, she'd seen the pain on his face, like he'd been caught in some nightmare.

Buffy knew what that felt like.

She'd wanted to do _something_ to make it all better for him. But Dean had beaten her to it. Seemed like he had some kind of Sam-radar.

But they could talk about that when they were safely far away.

They were the only ones moving in the place, with the exception of Tony and the staff at the bar, who were slowly getting out from behind counters and under tables. Tony stormed over.

"Buff, what's going on you? You're family, and I can put up with a lot, but from where I'm standing, your _friend_ here," he said, indicating Dean, "created the problem and someone's gotta answer for this." He spread his hands wide.

"Oh, God," Buffy swore, looking at the destruction around her.

The aftermath reminded Buffy of one of her better Apocalypses.

It looked like a hurricane had swept through here. Chairs were overturned, glass littered the floor...Had she really hit that guy hard enough to break a table clean through? Which made Buffy a bit sad because she knew these people. She liked this bar. And Tony, well... Tony was family.

"He's right, Dean. This is all your fault," she accused. "How you gonna fix this?"

"Wait a minute, Princess. It takes two to start a fight. The other guy's as much to blame..." he trailed off, looking around at the ruined bar and then at Sammy's head, and sighed. "You're right." He grimaced. "I'm sorry, man," he told Tony and handed him a bundle of cash.

"Dean..." Sam warned. "All of it."

"Oh for cryin' out loud," he muttered, but pulled another wad of cash out. "Here, it's a little over 1,000 dollars. Does that cover the damage?"

Buffy could see by Tony's face that this wasn't gonna cut it, and she'd normally agree. But Sam had been trying to help her and there was something more going on here, she was sure. And a jail cell would be so not good for her hair.

"I'm sorry, Tony. Look... If you need more to cover the damage, just call me, 'kay? But we gotta go."

She grabbed her purse and jacket from where she'd dropped them, and started hustling Sam and Dean to the door, trying not to jar Sam more than necessary.

"Buff..." Tony shouted, but only sighed as they ran for the exit. "Ah, hell." He turned back to the bar and started the long mopping-up process just as the police burst in.

"Thanks for coming, officers. The guys who did this are long gone..."

X X X

They got in Buffy's Mustang ( _who was his "baby,"_ she wondered, as Dean muttered about how much he missed her) and driving down the highway when she could finally breathe again.

Dean kept looking at her from the back seat, like he couldn't figure her out. "Thanks," he said uncertainly.

"You guys are crazy!" she said. "And you cost me cred with Tony, y'know?"

"Takes one to know one, sugar," Dean said, his eyes sparkling at her through the rearview mirror. "You didn't have to join in."

"What? In there? It was punch or be punched. Do I look like a punching bag to you?"

"No, you look like a princess," Sam said, smiling. "Although, a bit beat up at the moment."

"You okay, Sam?" She looked at him, stretched out in the front seat. The man was so tall, he was probably uncomfortable..

"I'm okay," he said. "I'll be fine. Feeling a lot better, actually."

"What happened in there?" Dean wanted to know. "Was it..."

"Yeah. Him again."

 _Him?_ Buffy wondered. "Say, where are we going?"

"Back to our motel, if you don't mind. I want to get Sam fixed up a little, even though he says he's fine."

She navigated the streets as Dean gave her directions. She was still concerned about what she'd seen at the bar. Was something stalking him? Some weird psychic gloom-spirit? It just seemed like there was more to this than simple grief.

 _Not to mention, I have all sorts of questions about Sam. Like what's messing with his head? And who's the 'Him' they just spoke about?_ Sam was acting so weird; erratic, even. His behavior during the fight struck a nerve with her. It was eerily similar to Spike's when the First had haunted him. And she'd noticed the way Sam had spoken to Dean earlier, looking off to the side, as if he were talking to someone who wasn't there. She really wanted to help Sam; after all, he'd tried to help her tonight, and his brother...well, Dean could use a good swift kick in the pants. _And I'm just the girl to give it to him._

And something was still niggling at her brain.

_Sam and Dean... Sam and Dean... So familiar..._

She pushed it aside as she drove, determined that whatever happened, she'd figure out the puzzle that was Sam and Dean, and help them.

X X X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Shushan Purim to all of my Jewish readers. Hope your Purim was fun and full of simchah (joy). To all of my readers, hope you had a wonderful weekend, also full of joy and good things..


	6. Playing the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Supernatural; I'm just havin' fun. Hope you are too.
> 
> A/N Warning: Language, as usual.
> 
> Also: Chapter contains much humor, verbal sparring and tons of innuendo. Nothing too explicit. Oh, and if you're drinking, you might want to put a plastic over your monitor…
> 
> Thank you to the FICWISE Writing Group for their insight into this chapter. You guys are wonderful! You can see the FiCWISE community at http://www.fanfiction.net/community/FICWISE-Writing-Group/102781/.

Giles squinted through his bifocals and scowled at the text in front of him. No matter how he tried, he couldn't forget the sight of her. Her eyes wide, as if she'd been surprised, the blood pooled around her head. Her crumpled body lying, as if discarded, in a filthy alley.

Little Stephanie.

But her face...

Her face was the worst part.

He'd buried himself in an obscure scroll, which had been found in the Egyptian desert and was rumored to contain something about Slayers. Some old, moldy prophecy, that by now was probably totally useless (most of them were). But he couldn't take the chance. So when the text had come up for auction, there he'd been, with some Council money and the knowledge that if the text wasn't his by the end of the night, the final bidder would need...other means of persuasion.

Sometimes this was a dirty job.

And never more than tonight. The translation work didn't help. His mind was not in it. Instead, his thoughts kept circling around and around, taking him back to the sight of her lying in the alley. Her face...

And the words kept running through his head. Such paltry words, dry and useless. Totally unable to convey the regret, the pain, the awful feeling of guilt, that he had failed this child.

**"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Thompson," he uttered, hoping that she could hear the sorrow in his voice. "I'm afraid...I have some bad news."**

**"Bad news?" The fearful voice on the other end made this even harder. He imagined...no, he remembered...when it had been Buffy he'd lost. Losing her again would be unbearable. He was about to put this woman in a living nightmare.**

**"About Stephanie."**

**"What happened? Is she okay?"**  
  
 **"I'm afraid not. Mrs. Thompson, there's no easy way to say this. Your daughter's dead."**

**"Dead?! What happened?"**

**"She was attacked by a wild animal."**

**As Giles said this, he was aware of how crazy that must sound. But how else to explain what had happened to her face?**

**The rest of the conversation descended into chaos, with Stephanie's mother demanding to know more. How had this happened? Finally, with assurances that the body would be shipped back home tomorrow, he hung up.**

Giles sighed and cleaned his glasses, a sure sign that he was frustrated and anxious. Putting them back on, and making sure the door was closed, he pulled one rather battered-looking book from the top bookshelf above his desk, and a section of wall slid aside. He entered his inner sanctum.

The war room. The room that only the Slayer inner circle knew about. The room that hadn't been in use for a while - almost a year. And he had hoped, _somehow_ , though Heaven knew the odds were extraordinarily against it, that the room would cease being a war room altogether and become a private hideaway, when he wished to take a vacation from his responsibilities.

He had indulged his deep desire for a life approximating normal, indeed, approaching humdrum - as normal as things got for the slayers and their watchers - and agreed that Buffy should go back to school to get her degree as a social worker. Her request for something different had not surprised him. The Twilight incident had hurt her greatly, taking her lover Satsu, dead at the hands of Angel, her first love. Fresh on the heels of that, she had fought with Faith and the other slayers against the government, set on persecuting these homegrown "terrorists", even though the only things they were killing were evil. She was weary, bloodied inside, so he understood the desire for a different life. What he didn't expect was the request for more schooling. He never would have thought of his slayer as the academic type. She had always been one to avoid research. But Buffy was determined.

**"It's something I can do, Giles. I know what these girls go through, I've been through it myself." She faced him down, much as she would any demon on the Hellmouth. Giles had felt a surge of pride at the confident woman his slayer had become.**

**"Are you sure you can do the coursework, Buffy? Weren't you the one who described research as 'mind-numbing and just as much fun as novacaine'?"**

**"I know it'll be hard, Giles, but I'm good at the counselor gig. I did it in Sunnydale and I can do it again. But it'll be so much easier if I have the training."**

So Giles had agreed, bemused when Buffy really did seem to throw herself into the coursework, getting a solid B average her first semester at college. When things had died down and the government problem was taken care of (thanks to the help of a very talented hacker friend of Willow's named Charlie), he'd thought things would settle down.

And then the new Hellmouth had appeared, right here in Detroit. A little more than two years ago, in March 2010. Bigger than the one in Sunnydale, and _way_ more vicious.

But they had managed; it helped that Faith, Rona, Vi and the other experienced slayers were able to take up the slack. Even more so, that so many new slayers were appearing. Finding the new slayers before they could get in trouble (and attract the wrong kind of attention) was almost a full-time job on its own, but Faith had that well in hand.

So Giles had told Buffy not to worry. She should continue with her schooling, get that degree she wanted. She'd make a wonderful counselor at the school. She was in her third year of college, on the path to that apple-pie life she was always talking about.

But the map and corkboard on the wall said otherwise. The map with its six pushpins, five blue and one red. The corkboard with its newspaper clippings. Stephanie's chewed-up face. All of those said that the Council and the slayers had trouble with a capital T. _Six pushpins. Five missing slayers. And one dead one. All on my watch._

It was time to call Buffy in, to batten down the hatches and find out who or what was targeting the girls.

 _But not yet. Not tonight._ Faith would be investigating Stephanie's death tomorrow. Best to hear what Faith had to say first, to give Buffy one more day of peace, a reprieve before calling her to battle.

X X X

When they'd arrived at the motel, Sam stretched out on the bed while Dean fussed over his bruises. Buffy sat on the other bed, Indian style, purse and jacket next to her, gazing at her subjects with the intense eyes of the insanely curious. "Okay," she said, "As the newest recruit to this commando crew, and the one who called in all her Tony favors tonight, I deserve answers. So tell me, Sam and Dean, where did you learn to fight like that? What do you do when you're not out starting bar fights? And why are you joined at the hip like Siamese twins?"

Out of habit, Sam corrected her. "I think you'll find the term is 'conjoined twins'." Then he bit his lip, realizing how condescending that might sound. _Way to impress a girl, Sam._

Dean scowled at his brother, taking exception to Buffy's last statement. "We are not..."

"Are we playing twenty questions?" Sam smiled, sitting up slowly. "'Cause fair is fair. The game should go two ways."

She laughed. "Okay. I'll ask one, you ask one. But I should get one extra at the beginning, for my trouble."

Dean stood up, having finished with his ministrations, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Buffy. He wasn't sure why he was unconsciously on guard against her. In many ways, he liked the girl. She was damn hot and she could fight like a hunter, two things that would normally turn him on. Too much of a wise-ass for her own good. Infuriating at times. And he could see that she had Sam on the hook. But he wasn't so ready to trust her. There was something more to this chick. Why would she be so interested in him and Sam, anyway? Why get involved in a bar fight with them? She wasn't telling them everything.

 _Like you're 'Mr. Everything on the Table',_ he thought, remembering all the lies and stories he'd made up for chicks in bars.

"You asked three questions. That's at least one too many," Sam argued.

"What are you, a lawyer? Fine..." She flashed Dean a smile. "For Dean's sake, I'll drop the last one."

Dean leaned back and smirked at Buffy. "Don't do me any favors, sweetheart. You'll need all the help you can get, to figure _us_ out." The fierceness in her smile set him off and his mouth was running faster than his brain.

"That's all right, Dean," Buffy shot back. "I'll win this game, fair and square. I don't need any extra questions."

"So twenty questions for each of us then?" Sam asked, exchanging a triumphant look with his brother. "You _said_ you don't need the extra help."

She laughed. "Did you two set that up? Not bad..." She winked at Sam. "Well, then, Counselor, you'll have to find some other way to reward me for helping you out."

"What'd you have in mind, Secret Keeper?" Sam teased.

 _Secret Keeper?_ Dean's eyebrows went up and he gave his brother a long, hard look. _Did he know something about this chick?_

"Dinner."

"Dinner?!" He looked surprised. "There's a diner near our motel..."

"At a real restaurant," she said. "Tomorrow night."

"A date?" The thought of a date with Buffy gave Sam an odd feeling of excitement.

"A group of comrades-in-arms, meeting. You, me, Dean...Don't forget, I stuck up for you with my friend."

 _Oh._ Sam felt a pang of disappointment.

"Okay, fine, Princess," Dean said, sounding amused. "You know where you wanna go?"

"Luigi's. Italian place." She wrote down the address. "So - my first question. Where'd you learn how to fight like that?"

"Boot Camp," Dean said, while at the same time, Sam answered, "Our dad."

Sam and Dean locked eyes, at once deciding to go with the other's answers.

"Our dad."

"Boot camp."

"So which is it?"

"Our dad was in the military himself," Sam said, "In the Marines. He's what inspired us to sign up."

"It meant a lot to him. It was sort of...a family business." Dean sighed. "Man, Dad almost had us in basic training even _before_ we went to the Army. Fun times, huh Sam?"

"Oh, yeah. _Fun times."_

The look that crossed Sam's face told Buffy that he'd never really enjoyed their dad's training. Ex-Army guys...she tried to see Sam and Dean in the army. The puzzle pieces didn't quite fit. She could see Dean there but Sam...something just felt off.

"Where'd you serve?"

"Uh-uh," Sam scolded. "No cheating, Buffy. One question at a time."

"So, where'd _you_ learn how to fight?" Dean asked. "It wasn't from a Betty Crocker catalog."

She gave the story she'd been using for her friends in school. "Martial arts training. I'm a black belt."

"What form? Tai Chi?" Sam had been pretty out of it in the fight, but what he'd seen of her style before Lucifer took hold had been fluid. It didn't seem to fit Karate or some of the more structured martial arts forms.

"Uh-uh, Sam. No extra questions. You'll have to use your imagination." She crossed her arms and tapped her elbows, quirking her eyebrows at Sam.

"I can imagine a great deal," Sam said. He could see her teaching a class, or sparring against an opponent, and the image was turning him on. He flushed and looked away.

"Really? You'll have to tell me some time."

Dean watched Sam and Buffy flirting openly, and tried not to feel jealous. He wasn't even sure why he was, since earlier that night, he'd already decided that Sam was the only Winchester who'd be "gettin' some". And it wasn't like he needed to compete with his brother for women. (Hell, as far as he was concerned, he'd already won _that_ game.)

It wasn't so much that she liked his brother; it was that she saw him as irrelevant, as less than a man. _At the bar, when we first met. She called me a Neanderthal._ Watching them flirt brought that home and for some reason it _hurt_. And that was it, in a nutshell. Damned if he knew why, but he wanted to prove her wrong.

"You have us at a disadvantage, Buffy. We don't even know your last name," Dean said.

"Summers. And yours?"

"W...ilson," Dean said. _Shit!_ He'd almost given their real name but had just stopped himself in time. _Damn those Leviathans for dragging our name through the mud._

"Okay. My turn." She paused, thinking. What should she ask about? She had so many questions, starting with what was messing with Sam. But that was too personal. She didn't think they would tell her yet. She needed more time.

"What do you do for a living? I mean, now that you're out of the Army?"

"We're male models," Dean slipped it in quickly, reaching for something that would get her hot and bothered.

"Male models?" Buffy gave him a look that said _You're kidding me._

It took everything in Sam to keep a straight face. _What is Dean doing?_ Pest control, that would have made sense. But seeing Dean's lips curling up in a smirk had him playing along. It was just so good to see his brother smiling. Deep down, Sam knew he'd do anything to keep that expression on Dean's face.

_Well... Almost anything._

"No, really," said Sam. "It's quite a lucrative business."

"Yeah. Magazines, billboards. TV shows. The country is full of opportunity."

"Male models that start fights in bars... What do you model?"

"Mostly underwear." Dean grinned at her.

"Underwear?" The word slipped out before she could stop it. Unbidden, an image of Dean naked except for underwear flashed through her mind. He was wearing... never mind what he was wearing!

The man leered like he could read her mind. "You know, those tight-fitting briefs they use for the calendar shots? That's me."

"Really?" She put as much sarcasm and disbelief into that "really" as she could, trying to seem cool and unaffected, but despite her best efforts, some pink stained her cheeks. Dean was looking at her coyly, fully aware of the effect he was having.

"Sam here - he does the boxers."

Sam laughed. "That's because I'm so much bigger than you, Dean."

Inadvertently, Buffy's eyes were drawn over to Sam and downward, to his pelvic area. She flushed and quickly raised her eyes. _Must focus on something else. Like his muscular chest. The man is packed. Big man, big...Omigod._ The picture of Sam going through Buffy's head had just replaced the one of Dean, and God help her, she was getting hotter.

She looked away from Sam and over at Dean. He was staring at his brother in disbelief. _Ha. Big man on campus, huh?_ She grinned, enjoying Sam's victory and decided he deserved some backup. Besides, it was just too much fun to yank Dean's chain.

Pink silk purse in hand, Buffy rose, sauntering over to Sam's bed, a sway in her hips. She felt daring, quite unlike herself. _Like Faith._ Her sister slayer would be proud of her, she mused, as she sat down, only a foot away from Sam, and gave him a look from under her eyelashes. "Mind if I freshen up a bit?" she asked. She took out her passion-pink lipstick, opened it and deliberately refreshed the color, blotting her lips in a gesture that was pure seduction. "You know," she confided, making sure her voice carried, but pitching it so that it was directed at Sam. "Girls usually like their fun in larger packages."

Sam was turning red, she noted, and Dean looked like he was about to scrape his jaw off the floor. After a full minute of gaping, he recovered enough to say, with a wicked sparkle in his eye, "It's not what you have, sweetheart, it's what you do with it."

Sam looked like he was torn between smiling and melting into the floor. Buffy took pity on him, putting her lipstick away and changing the subject. "So...any questions you wanted to ask me, Sam? Or you gonna let Dean have all the fun..."

There were so many questions Sam wanted to ask Buffy, he felt like they were rolling around on the tip of his tongue, blocking each other. What came out was, "What's your worst high school memory?"

Immediately a long-suppressed memory flashed through Buffy's head, one that she'd buried deep and had refused to think about for a long time. It was Angel's face as she ran a sword through him and sent him to Hell. All for the good of the world.

Just seconds before he'd been Angelus, missing his soul, the demon who had taunted and tormented her, the one responsible for killing one of her friends and torturing another. The very moment she had steeled herself and sealed him in a Hell dimension, which could only be closed off with his blood, was the moment she saw the awareness flicker in his eyes. Willow had completed the spell, putting Angel's soul back in his body. And the man she had loved had returned, only to be murdered by her and sent to Hell.

She pushed it down, but the pain must have shown on her face. Immediately Sam moved closer to her and put an arm on her shoulder, and Dean got up and walked over. He stood there awkwardly, as if he wanted to reach out to her but didn't know what to do.

"Buffy, hey...it's okay," Sam said. "Really, you don't have to answer that."

"That's right, Princess. Skip the question." The gruffness in Dean's voice surprised Buff. _Who knew?_ she mused. _The hardcase isn't so hard after all. How much of what he shows people is real?_ He reminded her of Faith. It had been years before Buffy learned to see behind Faith's tough girl facade.

"No, it's all right," she forced a laugh and shoved the pain away, determined to bring back the lightness they'd somehow lost. "High school is Hell, dontcha know?" She reached for something less painful. "My worst high school moment? Finding out my boyfriend was really a demon." She meant it as a joke, but then realized that this subject was probably as painful as the one she'd just avoided. _Way to go, Buff. Bring out all the skeletons, why dontcha?_

"Really?" Sam looked at her, his hazel eyes full of compassion. His arm felt warm on her, comforting. _Now why in the world is he looking at me with such...understanding? He can't possibly be taking me seriously, can he?_

"No, of course not," she laughed. "Figure of speech." _Y'know, wait a minute..._ This was perfect! They thought she was joking. She could go with this.

"Oh," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Of course." He dropped his arm and her shoulder felt empty somehow.

"Well," she admitted, "I always knew he had the devil in him but then he just kind of...lost his humanity."

The brothers shared a look. _Demon possession?_ Sam cleared his throat. "Um, did you notice anything strange about him?"

Dean was leaning forward now. "Like something weird about his eyes?"

"What are you guys, nuts?" Buffy really didn't get how seriously they were taking this. Did these guys never hear Valley Girl talk about relationships that went bad? "His eyes were brown... except..." she paused, thinking. _How should I put this?_ "Sometimes, in certain lights," she admitted, "they did look sort of yellow."

Buffy found the silence beyond freaky. _Why do they look so shocked?_

"So when did you last see this ex of yours?" Sam asked.

"It's been a few months. We just sort of bumped into each other. But we haven't really seen each other in about six years." She shrugged, still puzzled at Sam and Dean's reactions. Why should anything she said not sound like the stuff normal people say about their exes? "I mean, we're definitely so over each other, Sam. Believe me." _You have no idea._

She gave him a flirtatious smile and enjoyed seeing him blush. _God, this guy reacts so easily._ It was fun to tease him, nice to know she could still have that effect on a man. With Sam, so much was on the surface, and yet, so much was hidden. He was like that delicious pastry she'd tasted a couple of weeks ago, when her roommate Dana had treated her to lunch out.

Cherump...no...Cherpumple, that was it. Cherry pie, surrounding a pumpkin pie, surrounding an apple pie. Each layer soft and flaky, the flavors bursting together.

She licked her lips. She was getting hungry. Why dwell on an ex who tended to go all demony without warning, with Sam sitting right in front of her? _I'm sure_ he _never went dark side._

"So really," she said. "Enough of my sad love life. I guess it's my turn to ask a question..." She thought for a moment. _Something light._ "Okay, are you a cat person or a dog person?" She was looking over at Dean and was surprised to see him flinch at the word "dog". The disgust on his face was mixed with fear; the reaction was too strong to be normal. _Classic signs of post-trauma. Did he get bitten or something?_ But the fear left his eyes and the reaction passed, so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. He was watching her carefully and had gone back to leaning against the wall. _There's that attitude again._ But she had seen behind his facade; she wouldn't be easily fooled this time.

"Guess," Dean teased.

"Changing the rules on me? Or are you defaulting on the game?"

"I play to win, baby." He said it with a droll lilt, the kind of arrogant tone that said _You'll be mine,_ that women either hated or found irresistible. He didn't mind teasing, as long as the woman knew he was only playing. That way no one got hurt. He really wasn't sure where Buffy stood, but it was fun matching wits with her. Here was a woman who would give most men a run for their money.

And this whole yellow-eyes thing...he wasn't sure if she'd been kidding, just using figures of speech, or if there really was some hell-thing inhabiting her ex...or if she knew more about them than she let on and she was playing them.

He really hoped she wasn't evil.

Buffy eyed him expectantly. Before Dean could respond, Sam smirked and broke in, "My brother like dogs? Are you kidding? He's such a hound, he's way too alpha to tolerate other dogs."

Dean shot back, "I tolerate Samantha here, and he's like one of those girly French poodles."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

By now Buffy knew enough to ignore this exchange, or at least not to react to it the way she had in the bar. It made her smile, though, because it seemed to be a constant in their lives, this mock-fighting. She jumped into the fray.

"Sam's not a French poodle, he's more like a large collie - you know, hair flopping in his eyes, friendly...huge and inclined to lick you all over with his tongue."

Dean's face was turning a sickly green but he came back quickly with, "Yeah, but do you know where that tongue has been?"

"Pot kettle, Dean..." Sam wasn't sure whether he should be insulted that she was comparing him to Lassie or turned on by the innuendo. When she'd mentioned his hair flopping, he'd realized he'd been running his fingers through his bangs, a nervous gesture that had been with him since he was a teenager.

"No. Where has his tongue been?" Buffy looked intently at Dean. "Got any dirt to dish out?"

"Hey, you dig up my dirt, I'll dish out yours, Dean," Sam warned. "Think Buffy would be interested in that tranny over in Texas?"

"Tranny?"

"Dean's at a bar, sees this girl from the back, and she looks cute. Long black hair, red cocktail dress, leather heels. Taps her on the shoulder, starts giving her a line. Girl turns around and Dean gets all flustered. It's not a girl, it's a guy, a crossdresser."

Buffy's eyes widened. _This was rich._ "Woah, Dean, didn't know you swung that way."

Dean didn't miss a beat. _No one_ accused him of being gay. "Sweetcheeks, any time you want to prove I don't swing that way, go right ahead."

Sam's surge of jealousy at the thought of Dean and Buffy together was intense. But he needn't have worried.

"In your dreams, Dean." She shook her head. "Y'know, between ' _babe', 'sweetheart,'_ and now ' _sweetcheeks'..._ You're _so_ lucky you're Sam's brother. I've taken guys apart for less. I don't know _how_ you've lasted this long, the way you run off at the mouth. God must love you...or Sam is just really good at covering your ass."

"Oh, the story isn't over," Sam continued, before Dean could escalate the feud. "So the tranny looks at Dean and obviously likes what he sees. Dean stammers, says there's been a mistake, but the guy has Dean in his sights. Won't take no for an answer. Man, you should have seen Dean's face when the guy kept throwing pick-up lines at him...who's the French poodle now, bro?"

Buffy giggled. She could see it, Dean looking uncomfortable in his leather jacket and jeans as the tables were turned and the guy tried to pick him up.

Dean shrugged. "Call it the hound dog in me. Even the girly guys like me..." Dean said. "And brother, if you want to go down this road, I can always tell Buffy about Alicia Goldwasser..."

"Alicia Goldwasser? Do tell..."

"Dean..." Sam warned.

"She was a cute chick in high school. Sam had a massive crush on her."

"Dark hair? Big glasses?" Buffy guessed.

"Actually, blond hair and a bit on the short side. The glasses were those small fashion frames that were popular in the late '90s."

"Those were the days. Glasses so small they almost weren't there. One of my best friends wore those." _Those glasses had looked good on Willow._

"Right. So she was a mousy little thing, pretty in a bookish way, and Sammy was smitten..."

"Dean..." Short of shooting his brother, Sam was pretty sure there was no way of stopping him from telling this story. He resigned himself to another embarrassing moment in the long line of Sam Winchester fiascos.

"Oh no! What'd he do?"

"It was the end of the school year and one of the kids in his class was throwing a pool party at his house. Alicia was gonna be there and Sammy _really_ wanted to go. Only problem was his bathing suit was a little too small on him. We moved around a lot because of Dad's job, and bathing suits were a luxury we didn't always get."

Buffy wondered how bathing suits were a luxury if their father was in the Marines. As far as she knew, the Marines paid their people well.

"Anyway, Sammy had just turned 16 and he was in a growth spurt. He'd started off one of the smaller kids in his class but he'd shot up like crazy. He hadn't bulked up yet, but he was tall and thin and the bathing suit just wouldn't cover. So he begged me to go out and get him a new suit and we hit the nearest Walmart. Only to find that there were no suits in his size, but there was one just a little bit bigger. It was a drawstring number, and we could pull it tight, but it was still just a little too loose.

"But the party was that night and Sammy pleaded with me. He used those puppy dog eyes of his. They're like laser weapons."

Buffy smiled. _Yep, that they are._

Sam cringed. He knew what was coming.

"So I drop Sammy off at the party and I'm gonna pick him up later. Two hours later, I come in, snag some hot dogs...they had a righteous barbecue going at this party..."

"Really, Dean? Mooching food at your brother's friend's party?" Buffy was caught between amusement and disbelief at Dean's nerve.

"Hey, I was doing the brotherly thing. I deserved _some_ reward. Anyway, I'm munching on the dog, and there's Sam, standing up on the diving board with the girl he likes right behind him. The kid obviously wants to impress her. So he dives into the pool - the dive wasn't bad, I'll give him that - but Sammy didn't take that damn bathing suit into account."

"It didn't..." Buffy covered her mouth in horror. She could imagine what was coming.

"Oh yes, it did. The force of the water and the dive yanked that bathing suit right off of him."

Dean began to laugh. It was like a running faucet that started with a trickle and ended up a gusher. He was laughing so hard, he had to stop telling the story.

Buffy turned to Sam. "So what did you do?"

He sighed. "It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. By that time, I was halfway across the pool and my bathing suit was floating on top of the water, several feet away. I picked my head up out of the water and _everyone_ was laughing. And hooting. And whistling." Sam grimaced at the memory, his face now so flaming red that if resembled the barbecue at that long-ago party. "Dean threw me the bathing suit and we got out of there, but things were never the same in that school."

Dean, who had stopped laughing, said, "You're lucky there was only a week left to school."

"True." Sam was looking down at his hands now, which were clenched in fists by his side. He was rubbing the knuckles of his left hand.

Buffy imagined Sam trying desperately to cover himself in the pool, and began to chuckle, until she saw how rigidly Sam was sitting. It was obvious he'd never gotten past the humiliation to see the humor in the story.

"Come on now, Sam," she urged, her voice warm and friendly, like she was sharing a private joke, "don't tell me you don't think this is funny. It's like something out of one of those high school movies."

"True," he admitted, but his voice still sounded strained.

"Pretend it happened to someone else; besides..." she teased, "Alicia got quite a show, didn't she?" _Lucky girl._ "I bet she was so impressed with your...naked ass, she asked _you_ out."

"Buffy, I think I was in hiding that last week of school. I was so embarrassed, I didn't want to _see_ her face, much less ask her out."

"Oh," Buffy said, feeling for the younger Sam, who was awkward and shy and had been embarrassed in front of the girl he liked. Teenage Sam reminded her of Willow when Buffy had first met her in high school. Buffy remembered how tough it had been for Willow to come out of her shell, how insecure she'd been about the opposite sex. The incident at the pool party probably hadn't done wonders for Sam's ego; on the list of the top ten humiliating events that could happen to a teenager, public nudity probably ranked at #1.

But Sam's body had developed in all the right ways since then, and he was way past the gawky teen stage. Maybe he just needed to be reminded of that.

"Hey, Sam," she said, "you're forgetting something."

"Yeah?"

"Alicia saw teenage Sam. If she'd had any inkling of the hot man you'd become, she would have asked you out right there at the pool."

Sam's heart skipped a beat and his fists loosened. He looked over at Buffy, who was smiling in a way that spoke of possibilities his younger self would never have dreamed of with Alicia. He smiled back, a wicked grin full of heat and carnal hunger that took Buffy's breath away _._

The wretching sounds Dean was making jerked Buffy and Sam out of their moment.

"Jealous, bro?" Sam asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You kidding? Maybe disgusted. It's like watching one of those chick flicks where the actors moon over each other for three-quarters of the movie."

"Gag all you want, Dean, but one day, we'll catch you mooning over one of your _babes_ ," Buffy said, smirking, "and then we'll see who's making the movie."

"Never happen, sister."

"You'll see." The smugness in her voice was getting on Dean's nerves, and Sam saw that. Eager to head off a fight, he tried for a change of subject. "So...next question. I believe it's our turn?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "You realize no one really answered the question? But I'll give you guys a pass this time, you've had enough humiliation."

Sam's question was something he'd wanted to know when he saw how easily Buffy had joined in their teasing. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"One sister," she said. "Dawn. She's...a handful, always has been." She said it with a wistful fondness that had Dean thinking, _I bet they're close_.

"You're older," Dean guessed.

"By six years. Does it show?"

"It's the 'you mess with my baby sister and eat shit' vibe. Only older siblings recognize it."

"Trouble is Dawn's middle name. You wouldn't believe how many times I've had to rescue her!" Buffy was glad the brothers didn't know how literal she was being. The girl had a habit of getting kidnapped. Not to mention the time she'd fallen victim to the spell of a college boyfriend she'd cheated on, and been transformed. Three times. She grimaced at the memory of a frustrated giant Dawn...bitchy centaur Dawn...oh, Lord, and the worst...a floppy, teary, living doll Dawn.

"So where is Dawn now?" Sam wondered.

"Living in Scotland with her husband. It's Xander's job to rescue her now."

"You miss her."

She looked at Sam, whose warm eyes gazed on hers with the knowledge that having Dawn around was as basic to her as breathing.

"Miss riding to her rescue because it's Tuesday? Miss her leaving dirty laundry all over? Miss her manipulative, endless arguments when she wants something?" She grinned ruefully. "I guess I do."

The mood was light and the boys looked like they were more receptive. Buffy figured it was time to ask the question she'd been wanting to ask all night. "So mind telling me what's the deal with Sam? Why'd he freeze during the fight?"

Immediately she knew she'd overstepped her bounds. The boys froze like deer caught in a car's headlight.

Sam cleared his throat. "That...well..."

Dean came off the wall and sat down next to Sam, positioning himself between his brother and Buffy, almost like a shield between them. Buffy found it sweet, if a bit overprotective.

_And tell me you wouldn't do the same for Dawn._

"Something bad happened to Sam. Really bad," he said. _Like 180 years of Hell._ "And every now and then he gets flashbacks."

"Army stuff?" Buffy mused. "That sounds like it could be PTSD."

"PTSD?" Dean's quizzical look told Buffy he hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You were in the Army; surely you've heard about that?"

"Isn't that where a soldier comes back and he's a nutcase?" The sudden hostility radiating from Dean told her how closed he was to the idea of his brother having any kind of mental illness.

"Dean, it's not like that at all..." she began, trying to think how she'd explain the symptoms and effects of PTSD to this man, who, she realized, probably needed as much help as his brother, maybe even more. Dean's tendency towards alcoholism, his anger, paranoia, and his overreactions to ordinary events like the mention of the word "dog", were also signs of the same disorder. Of course, she couldn't make a diagnosis without knowing more. _I can see I'm gonna make a terrible school therapist. Can't even explain to a tight-ass ex-Army guy that he and his brother need help._

"My brother's not crazy," he growled.

"No, I never said he was. But if he's really been through such an ordeal, don't you think..."

Sam, who had been quietly listening to all of this, suddenly burst out, "Damn it, there's nothing wrong with me! I'm sitting right here. Would you two stop talking like I'm not in the room?"

Dean looked sheepish, and Buffy felt embarrassed. _I guess it was the wrong question to ask._ "I'm sorry, Sam," she said. "I know we don't know each other that well but I'm concerned. But it's none of my business."

"I'm fine, Buffy. Really." Sam looked at Dean. "I'm okay."

"All right then." _Time to get us the hell off this train,_ Dean thought. Damned if he was gonna let the conversation end on _that_ note. "So, Princess, what's the best prank you ever pulled on your sister?" Dean looked at her knowingly, a broad grin splitting his face.

She laughed, glad for the change to a lighter topic. "What makes you think I'm the type of sister who would pull pranks?"

"It's the privilege of the older sibling, Buffy. And you strike me as an Alpha."

She shook her head. "It's too mean. Besides, it's probably small potatoes compared to the pranks you and Sam have pulled."

"Come on, Buffy, we won't tell," Sam assured her. "What did you do?"

A gleeful look came into Buffy's eyes. "It was classic. Dawn didn't know what hit her." She chuckled, the memory even now bringing back the fun of that day.

The boys leaned forward eagerly.

"One day Dawn was out with one of her friends, shopping at the mall. She was about 14 at the time. My mom was out for the day and some friends were over... Xander, Willow, Anya, Tara...

"Right. So Dawn at that age was _really_ whiney. Your typical teenager - into everything and in your face about it because she was convinced that I was Mom's favorite."

"Oh, I know the type," Dean said with feeling.

"C'mon, Dean, I was never that bad. Besides, I grew out of it."

" _Something_ good came out of Stanford."

"Wow, you went to Stanford, Sam? That's a great school..." Buffy was impressed.

"Thanks." He smiled. "So you were saying?"

"Well, I decided to teach the brat a lesson." Buffy's mouth curved in a mischievous grin. She paused for a moment, lost in the memory.

"Go on," urged Sam.

"While she was gone, we switched the furniture in each of our rooms, giving Dawn my room and me hers. We kept the furniture setup in the rooms the same - her bed was where mine had been, her dresser in the same place as mine... We even switched the clothing in the closets."

"That's evil!" Dean said. "I wish I'd been there."

"She came back and we were all waiting downstairs, in the living room. She went up to her room and then...the scream. She came running downstairs and looked wildly at us and said, 'What did you do to my room?!' I said, 'What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with your room." She led us to her room, which was now full of my stuff.

"I said, 'Dawn, what are you talking about? That's my room!' And that's what we did for the next hour. Every one of us insisted that her room was mine and mine was hers. She thought she had gone crazy. I swear, the girl was tearing her hair out."

"That's so mean," Sam said, but despite his words, he smiled. "When did you break it to her?"

"Actually, we didn't. At least not at first. She went out to get one of her friends to prove that she wasn't crazy. And while she was out, we switched the rooms back. She came back with her friend and showed her the rooms, which were miraculously back to normal. Her friend said, 'Dawn, are you sure you're okay?' "

Dean started laughing. He couldn't help himself; he was imagining the look on Buffy's sister's face when she saw the rooms back to normal.

"And that's how it was for the next two days. Dawn kept saying things like, 'I'm not going crazy, I'm not.' and 'The room was different,' and glaring at us when we weren't looking. And to this day she wouldn't know what we did."

Dean's laughter got worse. At this point, he was practically falling off the bed.

"Who told?" he gasped.

"It was Willow. She has too soft a heart, and she couldn't stand Dawn's muttering. Which is funny, given that she's the wi...ckedly good softball player in our group." _Shit, I almost said witch._

"Softball player?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed. Dean stopped laughing, startled by this abrupt non-sequitur.

"Right, we lived in Cleveland, y'know? And softball is big there. Y'know, Cleveland Indians, cornfields, big baseball fields, _Field of Dreams_. You've seen _Field of Dreams_ , right? Big baseball country, Cleveland. Also home of 'The Drew Carey Show'. When it was on."

Buffy stopped, took a deep breath. Oh God. She was babbling, something she did when she was nervous. Sam and Dean were looking at her like _she_ was the one who was crazy. Which she really didn't blame them for. She wondered what they'd think if they knew that Cleveland was a cover story, and she'd really been living in Sunnydale, California. _They'll think you belong in a mental house._

"So. My question, right?"

"Riight..." said Dean, his eyes still registering complete confusion.

"So what's your brother's most annoying habit?"

"The way he sings. All the time." Sam said, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"That's what annoys you the most?" Dean's voice rose in disbelief.

"Mullet rock. Anything from Motorhead to AC/DC to Metallica."

"Not the pranking? The hitting on babes? The Busty Asian Beauties freezing your laptop?"

"Wow, Dean, you have issues..." Buffy said.

"You do it when I'm trying to sleep, when I'm trying to research, when it's just us in the car. Which is _so much_ of the time." Buffy was looking at Sam with interest. _I've said too much,_ he thought. _Given her a little too much information._ "Sometimes it's just... _invasive._ "

 _Hmm. They travel a lot._ Buffy filed that information away in the "Sam and Dean puzzle" column in her head.

"You can't get enough rock and roll!" Dean protested.

"And you snore..." Sam grouched.

"I do not!"

"Do too."

Buffy thought she'd better break this one up. "So, Dean, what's Sam's most annoying habit?"

"He's _so_ emo. And he wants me to be the same way. Even when there's absolutely no emotion to be found, he's always asking me what's wrong."

"Come on, Dean, I'm not _that_ bad."

"Dude, you're like an emotional vacuum. Trying to suck out feelings when they're not even there!"

"Besides which, most of the time, there _is_ something wrong." Sam crossed his arms and glared at his brother. There was so much emotion registering on his face that Buffy smiled. It almost was like he _was_ sucking it out of thin air - annoyance, hurt, worry, even a little guilt.

Dean saw his brother's guilt and immediately backtracked. "Hey man, it's okay. I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did."

"No, really. You're not that bad. I was exaggerating, you know how I am."

Sam was still thinking about Dean and whether he was too pushy with his brother, and almost didn't hear Buffy say, "Well, Sam, it's your turn to ask a question." He blurted out the first thing that came in his head.

"What do you want out of life, Buffy?"

It was a totally serious question, in line with the mood that had sprung up between him and Dean. And then he felt embarrassed, because what kind of question was that? Not to mention the teasing he was expecting from Dean for this. _This is what Stanford did for you, College Boy? This is the great lawyer?_

But Dean's sarcastic remarks never came, because Buffy was looking at him thoughtfully. "You know, no one's ever really asked me that, Sam. That's a pretty good question." She paused, looking at her nails. Sam could barely see the nail color any more, it had been chipped so much in the fight.

"I could give you some bullshit answer, like how all I want is to be the next fashion sensation, or to have my face on the cover of a magazine." She looked pointedly at Dean and smiled. "But then I'd be lying."

She stood up slowly from the bed and stretched, like a dancer, her lean figure accentuated by the pink angora sweater that fit her like a second skin. The shirt rode up a bit, exposing skin that was soft but, surprisingly, criss-crossed by scars. Sam stared, wondering where she had gotten all of those injuries. _I didn't know martial arts were so dangerous._

Sam thought she was showing off on purpose, just to get back at Dean, who was pretending not to watch her. But he knew his brother. Dean was staring, too, and his eyes would dart away if he thought she was looking in his direction.

Sam was mesmerized himself.

The only thing that ruined the effect was the bloodstain right in the middle of the sweater, between Buffy's breasts. _Which actually didn't ruin it at all..._ He shoved the thought away and tried to tear his eyes away from her chest. He found himself looking into sparkling green eyes that were entirely aware of his reaction and loving every minute of it.

"So I'll tell you the truth, Sam. What do I want out of life?" She gazed at him like a supplicant asking for forgiveness in the confessional.

"I wanna live without having any more blood on my hands. I wanna know...that my gift is not death."

The sparkle had dimmed a little, and with those words, he caught a sense of underlying pain that Buffy buried deep. _Like a diamond_ , he thought, _hidden deep underground, the sharp edges buried. And every now and then it will come out to cut her._

Sam reached for her hand and squeezed it. _This has to do with the girl...that girl who died._ But there was so much more to it. More losses, more pain, more guilt.

Dean's brow furrowed. _What the hell kind of wish was that?_ He ignored Buffy's words and focused on the agony underneath. It was an echo of his own guilt, the heaviness he'd been feeling since Cas was gone, since Bobby was shot. The stark understanding that they were dead because of him.

 _What does she feel responsible for? And why?_ She spoke like someone who'd walked a hard road, but she seemed so young... _Someone so young shouldn't have such a burden._

And then she stood up, reluctantly. "I've said too much," she muttered, then, pasting a bright smile on her face, she walked back to the other bed, grabbed her jacket quickly and scooted to the door like hellhounds were on her ass. "Sorry to be such a downer, boys," she said. "Oh... Don't forget our date tomorrow night." She fumbled around in her purse and grabbed a small notebook, tearing a sheet out and scribbling on it. "Here's my address and phone number. Luigi's tomorrow night at 7:30?"

"Sure..." Dean muttered, feeling like he'd been spun in a whirlwind. "Pick you up then."

When she banged the door shut, both boys sat on the bed, Dean gripping her paper tightly. Neither moved for a good two minutes. They stared, speechless, at the door.

"Hot damn!"

Sam sighed. "You said it, brother."

Only then did they realize that they hadn't finished the game.

X X X


	7. A New Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers find out about Stephanie Thompson...

Later that night, Dean checked in with Frank from the pay phone down the road and came back, frustrated.

"Nothing?" Sam asked, but one look at his brother's face and he knew the answer.

"Just more of the same," he admitted, flinging himself onto the bed.

"Well, I think I've found something for us, and it's not too far from here." Sam had the laptop open on the table. "In Detroit." Dean noticed the brief look of pain that flashed across his brother's face. Detroit would never be a good place for Sam, not after what had happened there.

For Sam, it would always be the city of the Devil.

Dean wished he could erase his brother's pain. Failing that, he could distract him. "A case?" he prodded.

"You tell me. Stephanie Thompson, 14 years old, found in an alley with her face chewed up. Just last night."

 _Fourteen years old..._ Sam remembered Buffy's words about a fourteen-year-old girl who had just died, and wondered if there was a connection.

"So...wild animal attacks. How's this our kind of gig?" Dean reached under the bed for his duffel and pulled out the cleaning rags and two or three guns. Only then did Sam see the extent of his brother's frustration. Cleaning the guns was a sure sign that Dean was tightly wound; it was one of the few things that could soothe him when tensions ran high. When things were really bad between Sam and John, before Sam went off to Stanford, Sam remembered his brother spending hours cleaning the guns. _That or working on the Impala._ Except now Dean's Baby was hidden, and neither of them could use it for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. Sam loved the Impala, but not like Dean. The separation was hard on his brother. _Just another thing you'll pay for, Dick Roman._

He didn't say any of this to Dean, of course. Dean would just shrug and make light of it. And immerse himself in a bottle. His brother had done more than enough of that in the bar, thank you. Sam wasn't going to push him in that direction.

But maybe this case would distract him. "What kind of wild animal snaps a girl's neck first and then chews her up?"

"Good point. Any witnesses?"

"One. Some drunken college kid..." Sam consulted his notes, "one Sheila Raymond, was out at a nearby bar and then witnessed the girl fighting with some other girl in the alley."

"Some other girl..."

"Right. The police report says the witness was raving about the other girl's sharp teeth, puts the whole thing down to alcohol-induced fantasies."

"Peachy. We'll have to question her. So...any other close family or friends?"

"Family lives out of town. She was a student in some kind of boarding school nearby. The Artemis Academy for Girls." Sam wrinkled his nose. "Artemis..."

"Wasn't she that Greek goddess who had all these girls following her?"

"Greek goddess of the hunt."

"Right. And she made them all swear off men. I saw this on pay-per-view."

"Dean!"

"Hey, you can learn a lot on pay-per-view. Some of those chicks..."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Strange name for a prep school, don't you think?"

"Yep. Makes you wonder what they're teaching these girls. Probably a lesbian incubation center."

"Right," Sam said, determined not to get into another argument about lesbians. "Well, we've got lots to do tomorrow then."

"Sounds good to me."

Sam printed out Stephanie's picture, a couple of newspaper clippings about her murder, and the police reports he'd hacked. For a few minutes, Dean immersed himself in cleaning the guns but kept glancing at Sam intensely and then looking away.

Sam sighed. "Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like I'm gonna go postal, Dean."

Dean put the guns on the bed and gazed at his brother intently.

"So when did he come back, Sam?"

 _I so do not want to have this conversation._ But Sam knew it was useless; when it came to his well-being, his brother was like a dog with a bone. He would worry it and chew on it, and then Sam really _would be_ crazy. Crazy from reassuring his brother and rehashing it, over and over and over...

"I'm fine, Dean."

"The hell you are!" The anger in his brother's voice made Sam flinch. "You told me you'd stopped seeing him."

"I had. Well...mostly. I was seeing him but I was able to keep him contained." He showed his brother the wound on his palm. "You know, the wound? The pain always sends him away."

"Then what happened tonight? What if we'd been fighting some hell-thing, Sam? You could've ended up dead!"

"I don't know." Sam didn't want to tell his brother that Dean's face had been plastered on everyone at the bar. His brother would go ballistic, maybe make him stop hunting. And right now, he needed to hunt. "Maybe I drank too much...not clear-headed enough to fight him."

"You drank too much..." Dean sighed, letting it go. Sam obviously wasn't ready to talk about this. _Damn it, Sam. When will you trust me?_ "Always were a wuss when it comes to liquor, Sammy. Better stay sober."

Sam chuckled, glad for the lighter mood. "Well, one of us has to drive." Sam closed his laptop, searching for something else to distract his brother. "Time to get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow. This case and then Buffy..."

The change of subject seemed to work.

"So when are we gonna talk about her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here you are, my 'let's talk about our feelings' brother, picking up some strange chick at a bar... and you're not talking."

"What's there to say?"

"What do we know about this girl, Sam?"

"She's good."

"And you know this how?"

"A feeling."

"A feeling." Dean laughed. "She has you by the balls, little brother!"

"She does not."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, it's okay. This chick is really into you, too. I can tell." Dean smirked knowingly at his brother. "Buffy and Sammy...a match made in Heaven. If you want, bro, I can stay home. Claim I'm sick or tired."

"No, Dean...it's not like it's a date. She asked for you too."

Dean felt an odd sense of relief at Sam's words. Hell if he knew why, but he really did want to see this chick again.

"Fine, if you insist."

"What worries me is her mention of yellow eyes in her ex. Do you think she's been stalked by a demon?" It was obvious Buffy could take care of herself, but Sam still didn't think she was any match for a demon like Azazel.

"I don't know, Sam. Azazel's dead." _I killed the yellow-eyed sonofabitch._

"But this might be another demon out there, on the same level." Sam was wearing his worry lines again.

"It might just have been a trick of the light. Like how hazel eyes sometimes look different at different times of the day?"

"True."

"Besides, Sam, she said she hasn't seen him in months. And they haven't been together in _years._ "

"All right." Sam let the tension go. There really was nothing he could do about the situation, anyway. He didn't even know the name of her ex. "One thing I don't get, Dean. We're taking her to a fancy restaurant. Where are you getting the money from? I made you give back all the winnings."

Dean pulled a wad of cash from the inside pocket of his jeans. "Never put your winnings in one place."

Sam just shook his head ruefully. _Typical Dean._

He was fast asleep in a minute, unaware that his brother stayed awake half the night, worrying.

X X X

The man that the world knew as Dick Roman sat back in his pristine office. Clean and cold, the way he liked things. Everything in its place. He fixed his chief scientist with a cold stare. "She what?"

"She snapped her neck." Da'asra, who was currently taking the form of one Uther P. Gutthrey, the head scientist of Roman Industries, tried not to show his fear. One never showed fear in front of the boss; that was a good way to become lunch.

 _Don't mention the chewing_ , he thought. _Unless you want to become a chew toy yourself._

"She was supposed to bring the girl here, not snap her neck. I thought you said the program would take." Roman tapped his pencil coldly against a notepad on his desk. His people knew him as The Leader, the Boss, and sometimes, as God. Few had the temerity to call him by his given name. And the Leader kept that secret safely hidden. Names were power, after all.

Da'asra began to sweat. _The program had been going well_ , he thought. _This should have been so easy. But these creatures...more than human, and their blood so much richer. But also so much more willful._

"I thought we were there, but it seems more testing is needed before we can attain a good prototype," he admitted. "Their willpower makes the process that much harder."

"Step up the testing then," snapped Roman. "And get more test subjects, if you need."

"Yes sir, but we need to go slowly. These aren't the cattle we're used to. They're worse than the Winchesters, I've heard."

"Is that fear I hear from you, Uther?"

Da'asra shuddered inwardly. To be called by the name of the... _animal_...he was posing as... It was the ultimate insult. "Of course not, my leader. Just being cautious. It would be better for them to find out about us when _we_ are ready to strike, not before."

"And understand this, _Uther._ If you don't have a successful prototype in one month's time, if you delay this project any further," the Leader snapped the pencil in half, "I will find someone else to become Uther Gutthrey. And you will serve us in...other ways." The Leader grinned at Da'asra, the smile of a shark who knows the fish before him will end up between his teeth.

X X X

_A/N Thank you to the FICWISE Writing Group for all of your input, but especially, a big thank you to all of my readers! Your reviews inspire me to continue and they let me know if I'm on the right track. Thank you!_ _I'm going to be taking a short hiatus and the next chapter will be posted either Wednesday or Thursday, April 3rd or 4th, which is after Passover. There is just too much preparation for the holiday._

_To all my readers- a Happy Passover or Easter, or whatever spring holiday you celebrate._


	8. A Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby starts to get a clue, Sam comes to a realization, Double-o-Dawn is on the case... and Buffy finally remembers.

Bobby woke up in the motel room and blinked, staring at the wallpapered walls, shrouded in the darkness of early morning. The dim light of dawn barely peeked through the corners of the windows, heavy drapes shielding the room. Shadows ruled in this neverland of night.

Bobby shook off the dimwitted poetry - _something Karen would think, damn it -_ and tried to remember why he wasn't in his own home, in Sioux Falls.

_My home. My home was destroyed._

_Balls._

In bits and pieces, it came back to him. The attack on his home - thank God he wasn't there at the time - the destruction of his library. Sam and Dean's fight with those stinking Leviathans, his rescue of the boys from that death trap of a hospital. Dean turned into a blasted idjit by that tur-whatchamahootsis sandwich. And then... his glimpse of their plans.

But then - there was the bullet.

_I've been shot._

Suddenly it all came back to him. As it had several times before. Apparently, this being dead business, besides being lousy with boredom, was hell on the memory. He found himself blacking out, losing time, only to come to somewhere else. And each time, he had no memory that he was dead, and wasted precious moments remembering what had happened to him.

If he could talk to whatever stupid deity had given him this crap hand, he'd have a thing or two to say. _I get the 'don't mess with the natural order' and all,_ he admonished God in his mind, _and for your run-of-the-mill spirits, I can see why you'd want 'em not so sharp. Keeps 'em from doin' too much damage until us hunters c'n put 'em out of their misery. But couldn't you make an exception for ghosts who're hunters as well?_

Only spirits, even those with swiss-cheesy memories, could do plenty of damage. His own experience proved it.

 _I'll never be one of them ghosts. Not the ones that hurt or kill. Unless I've got my hands 'round Dick Roman's scrawny neck._ A shiver of pleasure went through him and a fresh wave of hatred welled up.

And then he remembered.

_I did it. I moved something._

He'd moved Dean, shoved him, turned him 'round right in that bar so he could see what was happening to Sam.

_I pushed Dean._

He'd been desperate, afraid for Sam. And the anger had welled up, stronger than ever. So filled with hatred, chock full o'will. The hate and the willpower. That was the key. It was a deep well of anger, overflowing, combined with an immovable determination.

And it was tiring as all hell. But at least it beat the boredom.

In the bed near the door, Dean stirred in his sleep, as if responding to Bobby's mental complaints. Bobby smiled. Oh, what the boy would say if he could hear Bobby now, yelping about boredom! _You called me a complainer, old man? Listen to yourself. Stow it and take it like a man_! The hunter almost smiled. _Right, boy. You try yellin' at people and swiping at things half the day, seven days a week, and getting nothin' - absolutely nothin' - done, and let's see how chipper you stay..._

But all that was gonna change now. Bobby could see the way through, a way out of this nonexistence. He had to focus, build up his rage, let it fill him like the sweet tang of blood. Dick Roman's black blood spilling out at his feet.

The strength of his need for vengeance shook him and an image flashed through his mind. The picture of a ghost, like so many that he'd fought in his life. But the face on this spirit was his own. Bobby. Contorted with rage. His hands around Sam's neck.

He shivered.

 _No. I'll never become one of_ _ **them**_ _._ This was only a means to an end. Once Dick Roman was dead and the boys were safe, he'd gladly, as Good ol' Willy said, shuffle off this mortal coil.

But meanwhile, he had lots to do. He cracked his knuckles. _Time to get to work._

X X X

Sam woke early, sweating. Dean had turned up the heat before going to bed. It was March and the temperature outside was still cold, but Sam's thermostat had always run a little bit higher than most. _Inconvenient, that,_ he thought, for maybe the thousandth time in his life. He wrinkled his nose. _Time for a shower._

He stepped into the hot spray and let the pressure of the water soothe his tired muscles. Less tired than usual. Last night there'd been no nightmares. None of the usual Helldreams. He wasn't sure if it was sheer exhaustion kicking in or something else. Whatever it was, he was grateful.

Before Bobby's death, Sam had risen early and run all the time, or used the exercise equipment in Bobby's house. Bobby had been glad to have someone use the machines. _They were Karen's_ , he'd told Sam. _Don't know why I kept 'em, they've been sittin' here gatherin' dust for years. Reckon they were waitin' just for you._ Bobby had seemed to know that the exercise helped Sam cope, that Sam needed the outlet - not training, like he'd had from his dad and Dean growing up. Just the pure joy of testing his body and seeing what it could do, with no strategic endgame in mind.

The _normalcy_ of a workout.

Bobby had understood so much. And he'd _listened._

Sam missed talking to the man. He was more than a second father to him. Bobby was there for Sam when Dean wasn't interested in another _chick-flick_ moment. And deep down, Bobby had understood Sam, sometimes better than Dean.

He wondered what Bobby would have thought of Buffy. He pictured her long, blonde hair, her sparkling green eyes, the way she'd challenged Dean. Sam remembered the way she'd laughed last night as she looked at him, flirting and teasing him. He shivered with desire, his temperature rising. With a sigh, he increased the cold water.

 _Bobby will never know her_. The realization hit him with the force of an oncoming train.

For the first time since Bobby's death, the numbness surrounding his heart cracked and Sam let himself feel the pain he'd been holding back. Dean had taken solace in whiskey. Sam couldn't do that because Dean needed him. They couldn't afford to both fall apart, so for weeks now he'd been operating on sheer adrenaline, going through the motions. Forcing himself to be strong for his brother.

Besides...it helped Sam to reach out, to be there for people. He _needed_ people, not like Dean, who was happy just to be hunting with Sam.

The spray of the shower mixed with the saltwater of Sam's tears.

 _ **Crying, are we, Sammy?**_ The jeering tone in his head jerked him out of his grief. _**Always knew you were a big baby.**_

"Get out of my head!" he shouted.

"Sam?!" Dean's worried voice rang out from the other room.

Sam clenched his fist tight, digging nails into his rough, scarred palm, until the laughter of the devil faded.

"It's okay, Dean, everything's fine," he shouted back. He turned off the water and rubbed his face with a towel, hoping that Dean wouldn't notice the redness in his eyes. _He doesn't need my crap now. Gotta be strong._

X X X

Buffy had pulled to a stop in front of the white-shingled, square framed house that she was renting off campus and shut off the motor. In the sudden silence, she sat, staring into space, feeling tired, spacey and so hyped-up with emotion, it was as if her nerves were on fire with it. An odd mixture of elation and apprehension coursed through her. It had been _years_ since any man had shaken her up, since _anyone_ had made her feel so off balance, out of control. And there was something else... A sense of... _fun._

_I haven't laughed like that in a long time. Not since Satsu._

The opening notes of Marilyn Manson's "The Beautiful People" coming from her phone jarred her out of her reverie.

"Shit!" It was Dawn's ringtone. The quiet curse was so far from describing the trouble she was in, Buffy could have laughed. _I missed our call..._ With all that had happened, she'd forgotten. And Dawn would worry.

As always, the song grated on her nerves, with its loud, driving beat and "in your face" attitude. She didn't know why she didn't change it, except the song was _so very Dawn._ She remembered how Dawn had grabbed her cellphone and held it hostage, two-and-a-half years ago, on the last visit she had made to Scotland. It was right before she'd gone to Detroit, to start school.

**"Dawnie!" she'd warned, reaching for the cell, but her sister kept backing away, holding it out of her reach. "Give that back!"**

**"I will, in a minute," Dawn promised, in that smug 'I've got you' tone she took whenever she thought she was getting the better of her sister. "Geez, Buffy, don't have a cow. I'm not stealing the thing, just programming it."**

**With that, Dawn turned her back on Buffy and held the phone low, pressing the keypad with the dexterity of an expert. She had already downloaded the ringtone and set it to her number by the time Buffy snatched back the phone. How she did this while evading Buffy's hands was a feat that almost made Buffy regret the martial arts training she'd given her sister.**

**Almost.**

**She'd glared at the phone in annoyance, especially when Dawn ran to call from the landline and the song rang out.**

**"You had to pick that one?"**

**Her sister was a big Manson fan. Once Buffy had agreed to take Dawn to a concert, and standing there for three hours and** _**not killing** _ **all the members of Manson's band for creating the monstrosity they (and her sister) called music was one of the hardest trials she'd had to undergo.**

**"Oh, come on, Buffy. How else will you know it's me? 'Sides..." Dawn backed away, seeing that Buffy intended to repay her for messing with her phone. "It'll grow on you," she insisted, then squealed when Buffy caught her and began the dreaded tickle torture.**

The insistent tones of that damn song cut into Buffy's memories.

She considered letting the phone ring unanswered, but her sister was nothing if not persistent. "Yes, Dawn?" she said, going on the offensive. "Do you realize the time?" Actually, she wasn't sure about the time either, but it must be close to midnight by now.

"Don't you 'Yes, Dawn' me!" Her sister's shriek made Buffy wince and pull her ear away for a minute, as Dawn went on one of her rants. Buffy rolled her eyes and let her sister's rambling wash over her. She wasn't sure when the tables had turned, and Dawn had become the mother hen. Was it when Dawn started training to be a Watcher? When she and Xander got married? Or when Buffy went off to college?

It didn't really matter, Buffy decided, as she let Dawn run down on her speech about scaring her half-to-death. She had to step in, though, when Dawn said that Buffy could have been kidnapped, or lying in a ditch somewhere.

"Really, Dawnie?" Buffy laughed. "Come on. Slayer, remember? Besides, I'm not about to mess with the one who holds the world's record on being kidnapped."

"And the world's record on escapes and rescues," Dawn reminded her. "'Sides, Sis, that's not my fault."

"No..." Buffy sighed. Those self-defense lessons had definitely come in handy. "I'm sorry, Dawnie, didn't mean to worry you. I just got so involved..."

"Yeah, I heard," Dawn's voice went down a notch, and she sounded chastened. "About Stephanie. I'm sorry."

"I know." Buffy sighed, feeling the elation from her night with Sam and Dean ebb away slowly, as the sadness once again set in.

"That's why I was worried, Buff. It's...not like you to miss our calls."

It was Dawn who had instituted their weekly calls, when Buffy went off to Detroit.

**"Come on, Buffy, you'll be in college, busy with parties and frat boys... I don't want to lose touch with you." Dawn had pleaded as she scooped the chocolate ice cream into two bowls, handing one to Buffy, and sat down at the kitchen table. Buffy looked at her sister, surprised at how emotional she sounded.**

**Buffy snorted. "Are you talking about me or you? Besides, who was it that insisted when she went off to college: 'Leave me alone and let me live my own life'? And if you're talking about getting into trouble with boys..."**

**"Okay, okay, enough already..." Dawn rolled her eyes. "God, a girl makes one mistake and no one ever forgets it...even when she's a prim, proper married woman."**

**"Dawn, if you ever turn into a prim, proper married woman, Hell will freeze over."**

**"Hey, it just might!" Dawn protested, stretching her long legs and licking the spoon, her face melting into a smile of sheer pleasure. "Besides, just ask my husband."**

**"Your pirate husband?** _**He's** _ **one to judge."**

**Once Xander had gotten past the pain of losing an eye, he'd milked that eye patch for all it was worth. Pirate Xander had become his nickname, and even as head of the Watcher's Council (second only to Giles), he reveled in it, much to his boss's dismay.**

**As Buffy watched her sister, she realized how different Dawn was from just a few years ago. Was this the same devil-may-care girl who'd gone blithely off to college, determined to leave the craziness of the Slayer world behind her? If you asked Buffy, the words 'out of sight, out of mind' had characterized her relationship with Dawn during those years. So determined was Dawn to have her piece of the normal, it seemed like she'd rather forget she had a sister who was a slayer. Until she got in trouble and needed her, of course.**

**And Buffy had been happy that Dawn had been out of it - far away from all the craziness that had come upon them. Well, except for that period of time when she'd had to take a break from school. Transformations will do that to you.**

**But somehow, they'd gotten past that. Maybe the whole Twilight fiasco had made them value each other more.**

**Now Buffy was leaving for Detroit in the morning, off on her own pursuit of 'normal'. This was the last day they'd have together. Xander had made himself scarce so they'd have a few hours, going out to a movie with one of his friends. She appreciated that, more than she could express. She was gonna miss her sister, the little nuisance.**

**"Okay, okay... Fine." She smiled. "We'll have a phone call."**

**"Once a week."**

**"Once a week. On Tuesdays?"**

**Dawn laughed. "No, silly, not on Tuesdays. Tuesdays are always trouble. On Thursdays."**

**"Sure, why not?"**

"Buffy? Buffy? Earth to Buffy!" Dawn's voice brought her out of her memories again. _What is it with me tonight, slipping in and out like this?_ She had never felt so open, so alive...lost in the past and yet caught in the present, all at once.

"I'm sorry, Dawn. Just spacey, I guess."

A moment slipped by and she could almost hear the wheels turning in her sister's head.

"Okay, spill."

"Spill?"

"What's going on? This isn't like you...Something happened tonight."

"Nothing happened," Buffy said, but it had always been hard for her to hide things from Dawn. Her sister knew her too well.

"What's his name?"

"Whose name?" She had to think quickly, deflect Dawn from her quest to uncover the truth of all things Buffy. "Don't know what you're talking about. So hey, did you find out yet if it's a boy or a girl?"

"That's right, I told you that was happening." Dawn laughed. "Yeah, we got it done. The pictures are great, baby looks normal. But you know me, I like the mystery of not knowing. I'm cool, Sis."

"Right. Take charge, must control everything Dawnie is cool?"

"Hey, Buffy, I've changed. This little one...Being pregnant, it just makes things so crystal." Buffy could imagine her sister patting her stomach, which was barely showing, at least in the picture she'd seen on the Internet. At five months along, Dawn sounded much calmer than she'd been in the first few weeks after she'd found out she was pregnant. Buffy remembered Willow telling her about Dawn's hysterical calls to make sure that the mystical energies of the key would not affect the pregnancy. She'd been one big ball of nervous energy... Xander must've done _something_ to calm her. _Is valium bad for the baby? Probably..._

Her sister sounded so happy. Buffy had a moment of wistfulness. _If only..._ and unbidden, a picture of Sam popped into her head.

She squelched the thought. _Gettin' ahead of yourself, Summers._ "So you're telling me you and Xan-man don't want to know if it's a girl or a boy? How are you gonna plan the nursery?"

"Elementary, my dear sister. Two sets of linen patterns... Xan runs and picks up the appropriate one after the baby is born but before we come home from the hospital. The crib will be white, which could go for either sex... We've got one set of neutral linens and a white baby bunting..."

"Just one?"

"Okay... Okay... So I stocked up a little." Dawn's sheepish tone made Buffy smile. "Well...more than a little."

"Knowing you, more like a lot."

"Those baby clothes are so cute! Come on, who can resist them?" Dawn ticked off the names like arguments. "Coccoli, Fouger, Little Me, Carter's...The clothes jumped off the shelves and attacked me! I had no choice but to take them home with me!"

"Right. I'm sure those clothes held you hostage." Buffy smiled. _Now that's more like the sister I know._ "You would've made a great lawyer, Sis."

"I make a better Watcher. Speaking of which..." Dawn was using that tone again. The one that said _I know you've been sidetracking me and you're not getting away with it._

"Well, it's getting late.."

"Buffy, just tell me…did you meet someone tonight?"

"A someone and his brother."

"Two someones? Come on, Sis... I want names."

"Just one, Dawnie. Sam. That's all you're getting."

"Is he cute?"

"Smokin' hot."

"Short or tall?"

"Huge. Built. And there's nothing to talk about. Not yet."

"You got his number?"

"Yeah... don't worry, Sis. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know." _Better not tell her about the date._

"Right. More like I'll have to hear it from Willow..." Dawn grumbled. "The sister's always the last to know."

"Hey, with Double-O-Dawn on the case, no secret's safe. Listen, Dawn, it's really getting late..."

"I know, I know... Night, Sis."

"Night."

"Watch yourself, okay?"

"You too. Keep my niece or nephew safe."

"You know me. Always walking on the safe side."

 _Right,_ Buffy thought. _So says Dawn the Walking Disaster._

X X X

The clock said it was after four in the morning when Dawn hung up the phone, bleary-eyed. She peeked in at Xander, who was laying face down at his computer, where he'd fallen asleep. He'd been working late, though he'd promised to come to bed hours ago. It was really killing her husband that he couldn't figure out what had happened to those missing slayers. With Stephanie's death, he'd redoubled his efforts, but so far, there was no trace of the missing girls.

She smiled and caressed his stubbled cheek. With his eyepatch off and his eyes closed, there was no sign of his missing eye, which had been gouged out by that preacher. It had been nine years since that battle, and it had taken him a long time to accept what had happened. Dawn had only been sixteen at the time; she remembered that period, when Xander had turned inward and become solemn and less cocky. In the days when she'd seen him as an older brother, the loss of his eye had hit them all very hard. It had seemed a symbol -- of their weakness, their vulnerability, and the rising evil that they despaired of overcoming.

So much had happened since then. If you'd asked her 16-year-old self if she'd marry Xander and have his baby, she knew what she'd have said. _Hell, no,_ would've been her immediate response.

And then...so much changed, so much remained the same. Buffy was still prone to falling head over heels...and for the wrong guy, Dawn would bet. Her brow furrowed in worry. How could she find out more about this Sam guy - "smokin' hot", "huge" and "having a brother" were not much to go on.

"Mmm...keep doing that," Xander whispered gruffly, his eyes still closed as he felt Dawn's hand stroking his cheek. His eyes opened and he lifted his head off the keyboard, wincing at the pop of the suction as he pulled his face away. He rubbed his cheek where the keys had left an imprint.

He gazed with his good eye on his wife, who looked tired and perturbed.

"Come here," he said, pulling her onto his lap. He kneaded the muscles in her neck. She sighed and snuggled into him, her back leaning against his chest, her arm unconsciously cupping her belly.

"How was she?" he asked.

"She says she's okay, but I don't know, Xan. There's something she's not telling me."

She'd held off calling Buffy for hours when her sister hadn't called, trying not to hover. She'd tried to sleep, but could only toss and turn. Finally, at 3:30, she'd been unable to hold back any longer. And now she was more than a little bit concerned.

Her husband just laughed. "So? Since when does Buffy tell you everything? She'll tell you when she's ready."

"You don't understand. She's met someone new."

"Man or woman?"

"Man." His strong arms were touching her in just the right places and she began to shiver, as comfort and lassitude shifted into stronger feelings of pleasure. "His name is Sam," she continued, trying to make her husband understand. "It could be a problem."

"So? Good for her - you should be happy!" He leaned over and kissed her neck. "Maybe she's finally found the right one."

"With Buffy's track record?" She frowned, his breath on her neck exciting her. She felt him harden against her. "Come on, Xan, she needs someone to look after her. She could be headed for heartbreak!"

"Well, then, she'll have her little sister and her best friends here to comfort her. You can't live her life for her, Dawn!"

"It's not that." She pulled away and he stopped, understanding that she needed to talk. "Sam's only part of it. I have this feeling...I don't know. Something's wrong, Xan. Something's starting, and I'm sure Buffy's in the middle of it. What with Stephanie..."

He frowned. Xander knew not to ignore his wife's intuition. She was usually right about these feelings; maybe it was something she got from being the Key, or just having grown up the sister of the slayer. He filed it away in his mind, another piece of the puzzle that was emerging.

"Well, if something's starting, we'll know soon enough. And we can't do anything about it now. What we need is rest." He pushed her off his lap gently and stood up himself. "Come. I know how to distract you." With that, he began to kiss her, and in the haze of passion, she forgot about Buffy and Sam.

X X X

When Buffy finally entered her house, exhausted from fending off her sister, she tried to be quiet. She tiptoed into the main foyer, but the wooden floors creaked beneath her feet. Her roommates were pretty understanding, but it _was_ past midnight and she knew that Tanya, at least, had an early class tomorrow, like her.

Eight-thirty am. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Maybe she should skip? But she couldn't. She'd promised herself, she was determined that no matter what, she'd make a go of this college thing...

The high she'd been on had worn off and between the whiskey, her worries about what had happened to Stephanie, and the strange mystery of the Wilson brothers - _why did that name not seem to fit?_ \- even her slayer stamina was flagging.

She threw her purse and the leather jacket that had been scant protection from the cold March air on the chair in the hall. She winced as Dana, her roommate, softly called out, "Buffy? Is that you?" Buffy didn't want to talk right now, especially not about Sam and Dean. Dana was sweet and fun and over the last five months, Buffy had come to trust her somewhat. But she wasn't in the mood for more girl talk.

"Yeah, it's me," Buffy answered, careful not to speak too loudly. "You can put down the bat now, Dana." If Dana was speaking in that tone, then Tanya and Barb had to be sleeping. Tanya had early morning classes, and Barb worked during the day at the cafe on campus, taking classes at night. When she was home, she was as often asleep as not.

Buffy chuckled as her eyes adjusted to the light in the living room, one standing lamp burning, casting a rosy glow on one corner of the room, where Dana was standing, her arm holding said weapon high.

"Y'know, one day one of us will come in and you'll hit us on the head, Dana. Really? What happened to a good old-fashioned alarm system?"

"Not as trusty as my ol' bat here. This weapon saved my life so many times." Dana shook her short black kinked curls, and put the bat back down behind the sofa. She swung herself over the soft, white leather sofa and sat Indian-style. Her dark brown eyes, almost charcoal black with the shadows from the light behind her, looked knowingly at Buffy. "You're back late, girl. What happened? Had a hot date?"

Buffy looked at her roommate and sighed. Dana meant well. Was it growing up black in the slums of Detroit, having to push to get ahead, that made her so persistent? "Not exactly," Buffy countered, "Not unless you count a shot of whiskey."

"Oh, poor girl...So there you were, " she whispered, "alone in a bar with just that glass of whiskey for company when along comes Tall, Dark and Handsome..."

"Well..." She giggled at the thought of how well that description actually did fit Sam. "It was more like three or four shots, and then Tall Dark and Handsome came in with his brother."

"Two dates? You go, girl!"

"Actually, Dana, nothing happened. They were perfect gentlemen..." _Well, Sam was, at any rate._ "I know you want the whole story but I'll have to take a rain check. I was about to do my homework..." Buffy yawned, trying to give Dana a hint. She was using her homework as an excuse, not really yearning to take out her psych book and study for the midterm that was coming up in two short weeks, right before Spring Break. Nor did she want to start on the research paper she should actually have begun, well... researching. At least she should be doing some preliminary searches for inspiration on the Internet.

But she didn't want to do her homework, not right now. The question of Sam and Dean, and who they were, was still bugging her. And if her roommate would take the hint and get upstairs to bed, then she could do the search she really wanted.

For Sam and Dean Wilson.

 _No, not Wilson. Wilson is wrong._ She wasn't sure how she knew, it was just a feeling.

 _Why would they give me a fake name? Who were they, really?_ _Sam and Dean SamandDeanSamandDean. The names together..._ It was like a burr sticking into her, a prickling sensation, that she'd heard the names before.

She really didn't want Dana there. She wanted to keep the brothers close to her chest right now.

"There's not much to tell," Buffy insisted. "Nothing really happened. I got some bad news today..."

"You told me, a friend of yours was killed."

"One of the students at the school," murmured Buffy, looking down at her hands, remembering Stephanie's fine, elfin features, her delicate, pointed chin and long brown hair. She didn't really know her that well; she had studied that picture yesterday until she knew those features by heart. Wondering if maybe she could have done something. If she hadn't been so busy with her studies.

And then she'd gone to the bar, hoping to forget.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. Hey, look, if you want to talk, you know I'm here."

"I appreciate it, but I'll be okay, Dana. Why don't you go up to bed? I've got a term paper I really have to start on..."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine."

Dana gave her arm a tight squeeze. "Okay, roomie, I'm goin' to bed, but if you need anything, I'm here. And so's the bat."

Buffy laughed. "I'll remember that."

Once she was alone, Buffy went over to the desk in the corner of the room and pulled out her laptop. She booted up and googled Sam and Dean Wilson... only to find... some big law company in the United Kingdom. Nope, that wasn't it. Some motorcycle guy representing an energy drink. No underwear models (not that she'd believed that)...

So she took off Wilson, leaving only "Sam and Dean".

And then it hit her.

Just as it came on the screen.

_Sam and Dean Winchester..._

_Not Wilson. Winchester._

She flashed on the picture from her TV screen, the big, black and white security camera pictures of the guys she had just seen tonight... The guys she had liked (even if one got under her skin)... The guys she would have bet were _good guys..._

...as they smiled coldly at the camera and leveled machine guns at a roomful of people. And shot everyone in that room.

The pictures were there in front of her, the headlines, the _proof._

No mercy. No remorse.

Stone-cold killers. _Multiple times_.

She stared at the screen in disbelief and felt the anger build inside her. She couldn't reconcile the images in front of her with the people she'd met tonight. Sam seemed...so warm and caring. And human.

Apparently she'd been taken in _again. You never learn, do you?_ What was it with her and bad guys? Vampires, Parker... and now the biggest mass murderers of the century.

"Damn you, Sam and Dean Winchester!" She snapped the laptop shut, not knowing what to think. "And damn me for believing in you!"

X X X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, you should read "Fool for the Woman", an official prequel to The Hardest Thing is Living and a birthday gift for me, written by theYmp. Head right over to: http://archiveofourown.org/works/742228 and enjoy!
> 
> Thank you! :)


	9. A Matter of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should Buffy believe in the Winchesters? Is Dean up to Sam's internal crisis? Everyone's faith is tested in this chapter...and the Winchesters meet someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a disclaimer: What happens in fiction should not be a guide for us in real life. Dean's high tolerance for alcohol aside, one should never drink and then drive. Just sayin'.
> 
> This chapter is a wild ride. Enjoy! Please tell me if you think I got Faith right.

That night Buffy tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She should have called Giles immediately and told him what she'd found, but she'd held back. Hell, she could have called Faith. Or Willow. Or Dawn.

_Why am I still protecting them?_

She sat up in bed, holding her pounding head in her hands.

It didn't make sense; Sam and Dean Winchester were supposed to be dead.

_So they faked their own deaths. Lots of people did that, right?_

But those men in the videos... those weren't Sam and Dean. _There must be some mistake, some explanation._

_Why would two stone-cold killers have PTSD?_

She lay back with a groan, her head hitting the pillow.

When Buffy finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a dusty, dry landscape, the earth the color of dried Kansas wheat, the heavens above grey and overcast. The world was made of dull browns and shades of grey, the scene black and white, like an old film. All around her were filaments, strings, like the grey-black ribbons of film in old videotapes. The strings wound and curled around each other, some stretching for miles.

 _ **Gather them up...**_ The voice echoed through the strange film noir world she was seeing.

 _Gather what up?_ she asked, but the voice did not respond.

She tried to gather the yards of tape, but they slipped through her fingers.

Then they coalesced, knitting together until they became one smooth mask. The shape of a face. A man's.

 _What are you?_ she whispered. _Who are you?_

_**Help me...lost.** _

The face was blank and grey, but it seemed to be older. Rough. Weathered. And bearded, if those bumps on the face's edge were stubble.

_Who are you?_

_**Must ...help them.** _

_Help who?_

The hundreds of yards of tape came undone, as if the effort to stay in shape was too much. And with a screech, like a man in pain, the ribbons were absorbed into the grey sky and the black storm clouds overhead.

Then an image came into her mind, of a small boy with light brown, wavy hair hanging over his eyes. Almost obscured, but the eyes that peeked out from the mane of hair were a familiar hazel...

_Sam?_

The image morphed and the boy grew, shoulders broadening, sprouting in moments into the man she'd met hours ago. The eyes were warm and clear and Sam was reaching for her. Instinctively she reached back...

...and Sam clasped her hand and smiled. But then he changed, became two-dimensional, like a picture on a flat-screen TV. Now his eyes were cold and dark and he pointed a gun at her. And his mouth opened impossibly wide, rows of sharp teeth jutting out...

Buffy woke up, her heart pounding. _Freakin' slayer dreams._

X X X

That night, Dean had found it very hard to sleep, his mind going around and around his worries. The situation with his brother, Buffy, their mystery woman, finding out what had killed that girl, and the puzzle of how to kill enemies that could look like anyone they'd eaten, creatures that could clone people from pieces of hair or skin.

_I'll kill them, damn it, if it's the last thing I do._

_Nobody messes with mine and gets away with it._

_And that includes Lucifer._

Finally, feeling like his head would explode, Dean fell into a dead sleep, sinking into quicksand, only to come to, what felt like only moments later, with a clear sense of danger.

He sat up, hyper-aware of every sound and movement in the room, shedding his weariness like the soldier he was trained to be, cataloging all of his sensations into threat and non-threat.

_Sam's breathing. Slow. Easy. Sam's form, shifting on the bed. Non-threat._

_Wind outside. Non-threat. No known wind-spirits in the vicinity._

_Electric hum of the refrigerator. Non-threat._

_Heater blowing. Non-threat._

His eyes roamed the room, making out the corners of the curtains, pulled closed and flapping from the heater blowing. Everything seemed normal.

_So where's the danger?_

He would have put it down to nerves and gone back to sleep, but the smell of sulfur made him turn. Then he saw him.

Standing against the wall, in the shadows. Smiling like it was _his_ motel room and Dean and Sam were the intruders. That oily, snake-like grin that Dean remembered so well, the voice that so reasonably promised relief from pain and an antidote while striking with fang and tooth. The smile that hid malice and cunning, the hand that offered the apple of forbidden knowledge. _Be my pet, Dean, learn the secrets of the Inquisitor, play by my rules, and you need never know pain again._

There he stood, manifestation of Dean's fear and anguish. Tormentor, Father Confessor and Supreme God for 40 years in Hell. Dispenser of justice and favors, as he shaped Dean into everything he'd hated and fought.

The deep-shadowed eyes with wells of darkness inside, the flicker of joy as he looked into your soul and probed for weaknesses and pain, the steady, unrelenting curiosity to see what might push you over the edge.

He was wearing the same meat-suit he'd worn the day that Sam killed him. But the body didn't matter. Dean would have known this creature anywhere.

_Alistair. Defcon I._

In a flash, Dean reached for his knife, pulling it out and jumping to stand in front of Sam, between him and the apparition.

"How?" he shouted, forcing a hard edge into his voice because, shit, he knew this couldn't be real. "Whatever you are, you'd better get out of this room right now, or you won't be seein' daylight, asshole." He began muttering an exorcism. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas..."

"Oh, Dean..." The sickeningly sweet smile on the leathery face of whatever thing was pretending to be his former master made Dean want to put his fist through the wall. "All that posturing... really... Do you think you can exorcise the Master Inquisitor himself?"

"Call yourself what you want," Dean said warily, reminding himself that this couldn't be real. "You're not him. Just some fugly monster that plays with the mind. 'Cause I know Sam killed him, and he ain't comin' back. So take your mind games and stick them where the sun don't shine."

"It doesn't matter where _Alistair_ is, my friend," the apparition said with a nasty laugh. "What matters is that your suffering, your bravado, your dimwitted insults, can't save your brother. He's sinking, Dean...the Devil's in his head. He'll suffer eternal torment and there's nothing you can do. Lucifer and I, we're winning."

"The hell you are!" Dean stood like a goalie, protecting Sam and waiting for the thing to make a move. He continued muttering in Latin, but nothing was happening. His brother was sleeping like a corpse, not even moving in that restless, take-over-the-bed Sammy style that had annoyed Dean growing up, whenever they had to make do and share sleeping space. When the Alistair-thing moved, Dean slashed at the creature, but his knife hit only empty air. The monster moved straight through Dean as if he wasn't even there. When Dean turned around, the thing was pouring into Sam's mouth like a demon.

"No!" Dean shouted, and then gasped, as he realized that Sam's face had changed so that it looked like Lucifer. The Devil had taken his brother, except for his eyes. Sam's eyes were in Lucifer's face, staring at Dean wildly, with no recognition or intelligence, and they were shining with madness.

Terror gripped Dean. He rushed forward and pulled Sam to him, looking into his brother's eyes. Sam was crying, the tears dripping down, wetting Dean's t-shirt and hands. He clutched Sam, shaking his brother, willing him to come back.

 _I've lost him_. _I can't save him._ Dean realized the wetness on his t-shirt was from his own tears, flowing like a faucet that wouldn't shut off.

 _"_ **Sam!** "

The sound of running water woke Dean abruptly. He was curled up in bed, clutching his t-shirt, one hand around his knife, the knuckles white. The knife was pressed against his chest, and he knew if he had moved an inch the wrong way, he would have cut himself.

His t-shirt was damp and he felt like he'd been crying. He opened his eyes quickly, looking at the other bed. It was empty.

 _Sam! Did that thing take him?_ He was up in an instant before he realized what the sound of running water was.

 _The shower_ , he realized. _It's the damn shower._

_Sam is in the shower._

The sense of relief that flooded Dean was like the warm burn of whisky, calming him. He reached for Bobby's flask and, with shaking hands, opened the cap and took a long pull. He settled into steady drinking, gulping down the fiery liquid with the zeal of a man throwing himself into the comforting arms of his lover.

X X X

Bobby watched as Dean drank, wantin' to do something for his boy, but unable to stop him. Even when John'd just died, he didn't remember Dean drinkin' like this.

The boy'd had a doozy of a nightmare. Hazard of the trade, and his boys'd suffered enough for ten lifetimes, but that hadn't stopped Bobby from tryin' to shake Dean awake. Bobby's control was getting better, he'd managed to do little things like move a penny a couple o' centimeters. But try as he might, layin' his hands on Dean, gettin' him up, was still beyond his control. His hand'd slipped right through.

Now all he could do was watch as the idjit inhaled whisky like the stuff was water.

"Balls!"

X X X

When Sam came back into the room, he tried to look as if nothing had happened. Dean was sitting up on the bed, almost cradling Bobby's flask, and Sam could see he'd been hitting the bottle hard. _We haven't even had breakfast yet_. Once they'd left the bar, Dean hadn't touched the stuff all night, and Sam had been hoping...

Dean looking at Sam quizzically, the shadows under his eyes more prominent this morning. _Dean hasn't slept much,_ Sam realized. And there was something else.

"Have you been crying?" he wondered aloud.

Dean didn't answer, instead shooting his brother a hard, penetrating look of his own.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing at all." He opened his laptop and noticed it was warm. "Hey, have you been using my laptop?"

"No, of course not."

Sam checked the browser history. "You were doing a search on Buffy." He sighed. "Dean, there's no need."

"Just checkin' up on our mystery woman," his brother replied, grinning. "Don't you want some _intel_ before our date tonight?"

"No, Dean...she'll open up when she's ready to trust us." Sam was more than just a little curious but he found himself feeling protective of the short blonde.

"Well, honestly, her history's a little boring," Dean said. "I was kinda... disappointed. It was so... _normal_."

"Since when is being normal a crime?" Sam's annoyance at his brother crept into his voice. "Oh my God, she's not a demon! Whatever will we do..."

"Well, here, look..." Dean showed him a Linked-in page with Buffy's picture on top. Despite himself, Sam scanned Buffy's profile.

"High school in Cleveland, Ohio. That checks out with what she told us. Enrolled at a college right here in Detroit. Hmm... She took a break in between."

"Uh-huh," Dean tapped his finger against the bed, his ring making a low thunk as if he were waiting impatiently for his brother to get it.

"So what, Dean? Lots of people take a break between high school and college, travel, figure out what they want to do. It's not abnormal."

"Yeah, except I'll bet you she's not a Cleveland girl."

"Where do you think she's from?"

"California."

"California?"

"Listen to her accent, her speech patterns. She's from California, or I'll let you eat my pie."

"That'll be the day... Okay, so say she's from California. So she has a secret she doesn't want people to find out. So what? We all have secrets."

"Right." Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, get with the program. _No one_ fakes an identity because they're squeaky clean. I think we should check police records."

"No, Dean. Absolutely not. Leave the woman alone..."

Dean shook his head mentally at his brother's innate trust of a woman who would just hop into a bar fight with strangers. But he knew one thing that would get his brother.

"Sam, what if she _is_ in danger from a yellow-eyed demon? The woman's a case! Do you really want to leave her unprotected?"

"I don't know..." Sam ran his fingers through his hair, clearly torn between wanting Buffy to have her privacy and his protective instincts. The need to make sure she was safe won out.

"Fine. But let's not do that research now; we have a hot case waiting, and the thing that did this to Stephanie is still out there. Let's wait until after the date tonight."

Dean tried not to smirk, but didn't succeed. "Fine...We'll look into this hot case now, and your hot case later."

Sam just made a face but Dean couldn't care less. Whether Buffy was in danger or she herself _was_ the danger, there was no way he would have left this one alone. Not when their safety was at stake.

X X X

Dean pulled to a stop in front of a red brick dormitory at one of the biggest universities in Detroit. Grassy lawns, bushes and trees flanked wandering paths that curled around institutional buildings. _Schools. They all look the same._ Dean didn't know what Sam saw in higher education; he'd never enjoyed school, didn't have the patience to sit still in the classroom...had gotten out and taken his G.E.D. as soon as he could. Although the girls were always the best part of school for him. _Bet some of those college babes are interested in..._ _ **experimentation**_.

His mind flashed to a certain blonde, green-eyed girl that they'd met last night. They'd never gotten around to asking her what she did.

The dormitories on this campus were placed in the middle of campus, as far from the mean streets of Detroit as the university could place them. You wouldn't know that the city was just two blocks over, the university like an oasis for the geek set.

Dean schooled himself and put his game face on. _Tom and John Smith, FBI agents_. Stupid names...But gone were the days of the rock-and-roll aliases he loved to use. Incognito meant boring. It was like every piece of their identity had been stripped from them.

Sam stopped a girl coming out of the dormitory. "Hi. We're here to see Sheila Raymond. Can you tell us where to find her?"

"Who wants ta know?"

He flashed his badge. "FBI."

"Oh." She gestured through the door. "Make a left when you come in. Third room on the right. But she's talking to some lady right now. Some police detective."

"Friggin' police," Dean muttered under his breath. "Always gettin' in the way."

"Thanks," said Sam, and followed Dean into the dorm. Dean's purposeful stride said _I'm gonna get rid of this pain-in-the-ass detective_ but when he came in the room, he stopped, stock still. Sam bumped into his brother and stared.

A slim, curvy brunette in a police uniform skirt, jacket and white shirt, just a little too short to be regulation, was sitting at a desk in the dorm room, talking in a low voice to a girl who looked like she'd been crying. The girl shrugged her shoulders. "They don't believe me." Sam had to strain to hear her, but then her voice rose, quavering. "I'm telling you," she hiccuped. "I know what they say and yes, I'd been drinking. But...I know what I saw."

"It's okay. You can tell me, Sheila," the woman reassured the witness in a husky voice.

Sam tried to nudge his brother to enter the room but then realized that Dean must be staring at the detective's cleavage; her blouse was a little low for a policewoman. Sam sighed. _Dean and his women._

On the other hand, he reflected, at least his brother was finally showing interest in something beyond drinking.

Dean, who had stopped, surprised to find such a _hot_ detective, came out of his temporary paralysis when the dark-haired woman rose from her chair, finally aware of their unexpected intrusion. She moved with a grace and precision that screamed _wild thing_ as she moved forward, placing herself directly in his path, about a foot away, her arms crossed. Her brown eyes narrowed, spearing him with a look that was as much wolfhound as it was mother bear protecting its young.

It turned him on.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but you'll have to leave. Ms. Raymond is not available right now." Her eyes touched on Sam briefly, widening, and then came to rest on Dean, raking him from head to toe with a scorching glance. She arched her eyebrows. "But if you want, I'm available for questioning, later." The switch was so sudden, from mother bear to wolf on the prowl, that Sam sucked in a breath in surprise, rendered speechless.

Dean licked his lips, an answering predatory smile coming to the fore. "I'm afraid we have jurisdiction on this one. FBI." He presented his badge. Sam did the same. "So you'll have to include us in your questioning of the witness. Maybe we can... _collaborate_ later _._ " He winked at her.

Sam's mind was reeling. Dean _inviting_ a strange woman in on their case? He resisted the urge to check his brother's head for fever.

"Tom and John...Smith?" Faith looked at the badges doubtfully. She'd been around all too many law enforcement types - most of the time from the wrong side of a jail cell - and something here didn't add up. _These guys aren't FBI._ She was sure of it. She flashed her own badge. "Detective Faith Bonham," she said.

"Faith _Bonham?"_ Dean's eyes narrowed at the reference. "Any relationship to the late John Bonham?"

"The name's not limited to rock stars. What's it to you, _Agent_?"

"Nothing..." Sam cut in. "Um... in deference to our witness, shouldn't we get past the introductions and get this over with?"

"This is small-time for you gentlemen, isn't it?" Faith asked, her tone losing the provocative edge and becoming strictly businesslike, with a hint of suspicion. "What are Federal Agents doing looking into an animal attack?"

"That's strictly need-to-know, ma'am," Dean quipped. "And I don't think you have the _need_." His voice dipped lower on the word "need", and his eyes had settled on her cleavage.

"My _needs_ are far greater than you realize," Faith responded. "And now I'll _need_ to speak with your..."

Sheila Raymond, who had wiped her eyes and was watching the whole exchange, piped up.

"Please, Detective Bonham... If I'm going to speak to the FBI too, I'd rather do it all at once."

Faith sighed. _I'll have to keep an eye on them,_ she decided, and led the way back to her witness. _My witness._ _Mine, not yours, Tom Smith or whoever you are._

When they were all seated, Faith prompted Sheila again. "So...you were saying you know what you saw..."

Sheila gathered her thoughts and blew her nose. "I had just stepped out of the bar, it was a bit of a birthday celebration for my friend and we'd all had a little too much to drink."

"You were alone?"

"I left early. Wanted to be up for my class the next day."

"Go on."

"The lighting on the street was pretty bad and there was no one around. But I heard the sounds of a fight coming from up the street. I thought... maybe someone was being mugged. I was gonna call the cops, just wanted to see..."

She paused, swallowed.

"Here," Sam handed her a glass of water.

"Thanks." She took a sip. "Anyway, these two girls were fighting. Looked like teenagers."

"Like what? Pulling hair? Throwing punches?" Dean asked.

"No...no, more like...like those martial arts films my brothers like to watch."

"Chuck Norris or Bruce Lee?" Dean prompted.

Sam and Faith stared at him. Faith's mouth quirked up a bit, in a reluctant smile.

Sheila shook her head. "Neither. Maybe...Bruce Lee's apprentice?"

"Like she was still in training?" Sam broke in.

"Yeah, the girl who died, she was trying. But the other girl, she kept coming after her, wouldn't give an inch. Wore her down. I called the cops, but it was too late. The other girl..she snapped her neck."

Faith leaned forward, trying to look sympathetic and be as patient as possible, a strain when she just wanted to go out and kick the ass of the thing that had done this to Stephanie. _B should be here, not me. She's so much better at this emotional shit than I am._ "And then..."

"You're not gonna believe me," Sheila sighed. "It was...horrible."

"We believe you, Sheila." Sam patted Sheila's arm. "We know how hard this must have been for you."

Faith had to admire the smoothness of this John Smith. He really knew how to play the witness.

Sheila gazed at Sam for a moment and then nodded."The other girl. She opened her mouth wide and she had these large, razor-sharp teeth."

Sam and Dean looked at each other knowingly. _Leviathan._ Faith caught that look and wondered... _what do these two know that I don't?_

"Like a shark?" Dean asked.

"I saw a nature film once about snakes. You know...what's that snake that can stretch out its mouth so it's like twice as big?"

"Cottonmouth!" Sam's excited guess earned a look from Dean. _Geek,_ he mouthed.

"Right. So her mouth got twice as big and she had razor-sharp teeth and then...she bit the girl, started chewing on her face. Then...she must've heard the police sirens. She stopped chewing and her face went back to normal. She looked up and stared right at me."

Sheila's face was white with remembered terror. She closed her eyes. "That thing...her eyes...they were so cold, so full of hunger. And she was looking right at me."

She took another tissue and wiped her eyes. "Then the sirens came closer. She was gone by the time the police came."

"Did you see anything else that was...weird?" Sam asked.

"You mean besides the mouth that opens too wide and the really sharp teeth?"

"Did you see any kind of black goo? Like motor oil?"

Faith raised her eyebrows. _What kind of acid trip are these guys on?_

"I don't know." Sheila knitted her brows together, thinking. "I didn't see the girl's body up close and I kind of...freaked out when that thing was staring at me. I didn't see any black goo but that doesn't mean there wasn't any."

"What'd this snake-mouth girl look like?" Faith asked.

"Brown hair in a ponytail, kind of short, maybe 5 foot 2? She looked young - I don't think she was any older than the girl she killed. But she seemed...strong. Too strong for someone her age."

"Is this her?" Faith handed a photograph to Sheila, who took one look and said, "Yeah, that's her!"

Dean said, "May I?" and took the photo from Sheila. It was probably a school picture - a cute, brown-haired girl in a preppy sweater, ponytail pulled back from her face, smiling at the camera. Dimpled cheeks, brown eyes. All American.

 _So young. Why do they always have to be so young?_ A fleeting look of sadness passed over his face before he closed off his emotions. If she was a Leviathan, she was already dead. The only question was why the Leviathans would want this girl, and why they had then gone after Stephanie. There was a key in this somewhere that might give them a clue to their enemies' next move.

Faith saw the melancholy look that had briefly crossed the agent's face as he gazed at the photo and unaccountably warmed to the man, while at the same time her stomach tied up in knots. Whatever this man knew, that look spoke volumes. He was convinced the girl was dead. Which was not good.

He passed the photo to his partner and turned to Faith.

"Who is this girl?" he asked.

"Haley Stein. She's been missing for two weeks now. Columbus, Ohio." Faith talked slowly, and Dean caught a brief look of calculation in her eyes. _She's trying to decide how much she can say,_ he realized.

"If she's missing from Columbus, Ohio, what's she doing here?" Sam wondered, as he handed the picture back to Faith, making a mental note of the name. _More research to do._

"You're gonna find her, right?" Sheila's voice was quavering. "I mean, she looked right at me. Whatever this thing is..."

"I'll find her," Faith vowed. "You don't have to worry, I'll get to the bottom of this. This _thing_ won't get you, I promise."

"Not just you," Dean said. " _We. We'll_ find her. _"_

Faith looked like she might argue, but she made her face impassive and stood up, the brothers following her lead. "Thank you so much, Sheila. Thanks for your time." Faith gave one last squeeze to the woman's hand, and they walked out.

X X X

Once they were in the dormitory hallway and the door was closed behind them, Faith turned to the two agents and said, "What was that all about?"

"What?" the taller one - _John_ , Faith reminded herself - looked puzzled.

"Black goo or motor oil? What the hell does that have to do with Stephanie? Or Haley?"

The other one - _Pretty Boy,_ _oh, what I'd love to do to you if this case weren't more important -_ smirked. He said, "Show us yours and we'll show you ours, _Detective._ You had that picture of Haley ready. You knew she was involved before you started this interview."

Faith tossed her head and snarked back, "I don't share with people I don't trust, Pretty Boy."

"Even with a girl's life on the line?" His partner asked seriously, silently pleading with her with his puppy-dog eyes. _Damn, those eyes are like lethal weapons. Good thing I'm not a softie. B would melt._

 _But there's no way I can put the Council at risk. Time to leave this joint._ She frowned, as if confused, and gave them her best innocent face. "Really, boys, I don't know what you're thinking. Poor girl, she just had too much to drink that night. Obviously seeing things."

"Really?" Pretty Boy sounded like he wanted to strangle her. "That's the line you're taking? That she hallucinated a girl - a chick who went missing - attacking and murdering Stephanie Thompson?"

Faith hesitated, caught in the disappointment and disgust in his eyes. Why it should bother her so... _This is the job. Can't trust these guys,_ she reminded herself. Even though something in her _wanted_ to trust the man, there were too many secrets she had to protect.

"Yep, that's exactly what I think." She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to disagree. "Because we all know, there's no such things as monsters. Now..." She ran her fingers down Pretty Boy's face and he jerked his head away. "If you want a monster of a good time, I'm the girl for you. Call me when I get off work. Maybe 'bout 8?" She slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into his hand. He clenched it in his fist, but he was looking at her as if she were a piece of scum on the heel of his shoe.

"Right. Come on, Tom. No point in sticking around here," his partner said.

"Wait," Pretty boy said. "Look, uh, Faith. If you change your mind..." He handed her a card. "Just give us a call."

Then the two of them left and Faith was alone, feeling empty and oddly dejected. But then she brightened. _They do know something and it's up to me to find out what._ She waited until she heard their car move out and peeked out the door. She ran for her car, a smile on her face. _Time to tail some fake-FBI hotties. Some days I love my job._


	10. Thrill of the Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase is on... Will Faith catch up? And will the boys figure out what happened to Haley?

Faith Lehane was trying not to be obvious about following Mr. and Mr. Smith but it wasn't easy keeping up with them. The guy who was spewing that I'm holier-than-thou crap was driving, and she thought he must have a death wish, he was driving so fast. _Why do the hot ones always have to be such jerks?_ His partner was pretty well built too, she wouldn't mind a go with him, although he just seemed too...vanilla. She always went for the bad boys, the ones who just wanted a quick roll in the hay. Like the sanctimonious pretty boy who had her blood boiling.

_Crap, I hope they're not gay. That would just be a crying shame for women everywhere._

What gave Pretty Boy the right to declare himself God and judge her? Did Mr. High-and-Mighty Agent come clean? No. Because as sure as crap always happened on a Tuesday, he was no agent. If he was so concerned about the girls being in trouble, he could've given her his real name. Until she knew who he was and who he was working for, there was no way she could expose the school or the Watcher's Council. They'd waded through enough shit already. They finally had peace from the spooks; this wasn't the time to take chances and open themselves up to another possible threat.

These two were obviously investigating just Stephanie's death, since they hadn't known about the other girls. She hadn't made the connection, either, until that Sheila girl started describing Haley. Only, what had happened to Haley? Had something transformed her into a monster, or was that something imitating her form? And what did these two know about it?

She shook her head, focusing on staying just the right distance behind the car, when she saw High-and-Mighty Jerkface Smith pull a crazy spin. She had to work hard to keep him in sight. When he made another hairpin turn, she realized he'd seen her.

_Crap! Could this day get any more messed up?_

X X X

Dean was stewing as he drove, a bit too fast even for him. The minivan they were driving ( _the suburban-mama douchecar,_ as Dean liked to call it) was as far from their normal ride as they were likely to get, and every second that Dean had to drive it instead of his Baby was another second his soul was incarcerated in this motor vehicle hell.

"Slow down! You're gonna hit something," Sam shouted.

"I wanna hit something. _Her."_

He blew out a breath but he slowed down, mindful that if he ended up in the hospital, he wouldn't get a chance to tell her how totally evil she was.

 _Wicked._ The image of that woman in a black leather bustier (s _he'd have a leather whip as well)_ ran through his mind.

"How wrong is that?! It's obvious she knows about the supernatural. She wasn't a bit surprised at the witness' description of the Leviathan."

"Uh, Dean..."

"She's some kind of hunter, I tell you. Detective, my big, fat..."

"Dean! Really, dude," Sam tried to interject, but his brother was still ranting.

"And then she pretends she doesn't know a damn thing when there're Leviathan out there eating girls. Eating Bruce Lee girls!"

"Dean... there's something on my shoe."

"So wipe it off... Oh. Someone's tailing us?"

"Guess who?" Sam indicated the rearview mirror. Far behind them was a red sports car, stopped at a light.

"The royal witch herself?"

"In the flesh."

"Well, let's see if we can lose her. No way is she finding out where we're staying."

Sam didn't point out that she could probably find that out with a little research. He could see that his brother was incensed that this woman didn't trust them. It was ironic, really. Dean would only share information up to a point; he never trusted outsiders. Bobby, Cas, their dad, Ellen and Jo - all the people they'd considered family - had ended up dead. Was it any wonder Dean didn't want to let anyone else in? But now that the shoe was on the other foot, his brother was irate.

Sam sighed as Dean spun the car around, turning onto a side street, trying to lose their tail. _Faith, whoever you are, I hope you're not evil. 'Cause Dean's got it bad._

X X X

Sitting in the diner near their motel, Dean had finally calmed down, gleeful that they'd lost Faith. He was munching on a burger - his second, actually. Thankfully, the additives the Leviathans had put in the Biggerson's in New Jersey had not yet made it nationwide, and small places like this were still okay. He didn't know how he would deal once he was forced to eat girly, hippy veggie food all the time. He was gonna enjoy his meat while he could.

Sam had been busy with his laptop once he'd finished his salad. _How had his brother gotten so big when he ate so much rabbit food?_ It was one of the mysteries of Dean's life.

"So," Dean said through a mouthful of burger, "find out anything about this Haley chick?" Only, because Dean was eating, it came out more like "fndangHachck". Anyone else would have said, "What?!" but Sam had been hunting with his brother long enough to interpret Dean-speak when burgers were involved.

"Haley Stein. Thirteen years old. Two brothers, one fifteen, one ten. No sisters. Parents divorced, mother remarried. Straight-A student, registered at the local public school in Columbus, Ohio. Everything on the up-and-up until three weeks ago. Haley got off the school bus, told her friends she was going to get some ice cream on her way home. And never arrived."

"Poor kid." Dean shook his head. "Anything else weird? I mean, why would a Leviathan be interested in her?"

"Okay, so that's all I could get publicly. So I did some snooping on the school's network. Turns out the day she disappeared, she was involved in some kind of scuffle at the school."

"Scuffle?"

"Yeah, one of the other kids accused Haley of destroying their locker. Said she must've taken a crowbar to it, or something, because the locker was half bent out of shape. They got into a fight."

"Another girl?"

"A guy. She was given a 'deficiency report' by the principal for beating this kid up."

"She kicked the kid's ass. Man, I bet he didn't live it down. Beaten up by a girl?" Dean snickered. He put his burger down. "Wait. This kid wasn't a 90-pound weakling, was he?"

"Nope. Top football player at the school."

"Poor guy." He bit into his burger with gusto. "Okay. So let's see. Haley goes to school, everything's normal."

Sam nodded. "Then she bends a locker, maybe with her bare hands."

"The kid with the locker gets angry, and she beats him up..."

"...when she shouldn't be able to," Sam finished. "So…we're talking a girl who suddenly develops super-strength."

"You don't know that, Sam."

"I'm willing to bet that's what happened. Nothing like this happened to her before. No prior fighting."

"The Leviathans hear about this and what... now she's Levi chow?"

"If they even killed her, Dean. What if they took her prisoner?"

Dean put down his burger, suddenly not hungry at all. "But she was a Leviathan."

"Maybe that wasn't Haley, Dean. Maybe it was a clone."

"Sonofabitch." He shoved the burger away, nauseous at the thought of a young girl in the hands of the Leviathans. "We've gotta find her, Sam. Come on, let's follow up on that Greek goddess school, see what more we can find out."

Dean left his burger where it was, his only thought for the safety of a girl who, maybe even now, was being tortured by the Leviathans.

X X X

Haley Stein sat in her cell, a cold, bare room with a hard wooden bench. There were were no windows to give her light or tell her the time of day. She knew that days had passed, at least two weeks, possibly more. In the stillness of the cell, the only sign of the hours passing was when the monsters came, bringing her daily meal.

Once a day they came, slipping in a tray through a slot in the door. They returned some time later to take back the tray and whatever she hadn't eaten. The slot wasn't like the mailbox slot at home; it was like those teller windows in banks, where the only way to open it was to slide the bar out in one direction, and you couldn't close it without sliding the bar back the other way.

Oh, she'd tried to get past that stupid slot. She'd tried bending the metal or breaking the bar, but the thing must have been solid steel. Once she slipped her hand through instead of the tray, only to have one of the monsters swing the bar back on her with a painful jab. And then the _thing_ started chewing on her hand, nipping at it and laughing at her.

"Baby slayer thinks she's sneaky, does she?" The bar was pushed out again and she pulled her hand through, shivering at the telltale bite marks on her hand. "Do that again and I'll chew it off, orders or no." She'd never done it again.

When she'd first come in, she'd investigated the cell, looking for some sign of weakness. The walls seemed solid metal, and no matter how hard she pushed against them, they didn't bend.

Not like Brad's locker.

 _That_ had been an accident. She remembered it clearly, how she'd been absorbed in the book she was reading and running late for her next class, and Brad's locker was right next to hers. When the locker didn't open, she'd assumed it was stuck; it wasn't unusual for the crappy old lockers in her school to stick. It was the humidity, warped the metal or something. She knew the trick was to tug on the top corner of the locker and try again. Usually that worked. But that morning, she didn't know her own strength. The corner of the locker bent under her hand and only then did she realize that it wasn't her locker she was bending but Brad's.

He didn't take it well. Okay, it did make the locker pretty useless; they had to break the door completely to open it, leaving all of his stuff exposed - including a Star Trek chess set, for which he'd been teased mercilessly. Apparently it was not cool for a jock to be a closet Star Trek fan and chess enthusiast. She'd heard kids laughing at Brad most of the day. At first he'd taken it, but when he tried to punch her out, yelling something about how she'd pay for his embarrassment, she'd instinctively defended herself.

She'd trounced the guy.

There was no other way to put it. He didn't have a chance.

It was the third sign that day that she was changing into some kind of... _monster._ The second was bending the locker. The first had been the doorknob of her bedroom breaking off in her hands.

 _You're not a monster,_ she reminded herself. _Maybe a freak. Not a monster._ Something she told herself at least ten times a day. _The monsters are the ones holding you hostage._

The one big meal a day they gave her really wasn't enough. Even before she'd changed, one meal a day didn't cut it. Now, it seemed, her appetite had grown exponentially, keeping pace with her greater strength, quicker reflexes.

But the monsters weren't feeding her enough for her amped-up body. She figured they were deliberately keeping her on the edge of starvation...maybe they were afraid she'd somehow break out if she got enough to eat.

_That's right, Hales. They're afraid of you._

It was her inner Chad talking to her - the voice of her older brother. Since she'd been taken, she'd been hearing him as a counterpoint in her head. She forced herself to be cold, logical, calculating, strategic, not so much for her sake as for his. Only two years older than her, they'd been in fierce competition almost since she could walk. It was the thought that she had to be strong for Chad, that she couldn't let him down, that kept her going.

She refused to think about her parents or her baby brother. She didn't have the luxury of tears.

And then there were the experiments.

She shivered. She really didn't want to think about the experiments. It was enough that she had to undergo them, beyond enough that she dreamed about them. She pushed the thought away but it kept circling back. The experiments were the only time she was let out of this escape-proof cell. And the only time she saw any of the others.

She'd discovered there were others maybe a week into her confinement, when the head monster, Daarsa - that wasn't his name, but it was close enough - she called him Dirtbag in her head - when Dirtbag had brought in that other girl, Celia, for his first joint experiment. Which meant two hours for both of them strapped to a machine where they were given electric shocks and burns in turn, on greater and greater levels until one of them passed out from the pain, while Dirtbag recorded the results in some kind of ledger. She had barely had time to get Celia's name but she was sure that the girl must also be a freak, just like her.

It surprised her that the burns healed rather quickly, and she seemed able to withstand the torture to a greater degree than she would have thought possible. With each jolt, with each sensation of pain, the hatred for Dirtbag grew, and her determination to escape and kill the monster grew even more. She tried to catch Celia's eyes, to tell her that they would be free of this, that this thing would suffer for what it was doing to them. But all she could hear was Celia's screams. Or maybe they were her screams. She really wasn't sure.

So far she'd seen four others, but they were all kept somewhere else. So any kind of breakout had to happen when she was taken out for the experiments. She would just have to keep her eyes and ears open, see what she could figure out.

Haley closed her eyes and tried to catch some sleep, hoping not to dream.

X X X

Da'asra looked at the results of his latest experiments. Five newly-minted slayers had him no closer to figuring out the missing piece of the puzzle: why the clones he was making were breaking down.

The Leviathan scientist ran his fingers down his own scribbled notes. It didn't make sense. With humans, it was like a recording. The imprint of the person lived in the mind of the clone, the skills and abilities, but none of the original's personality or emotions. The Leviathan clones were like black and white celluloid versions of the originals, their mission the only thing that should drive them. Even the hunger in them was muted.

Not so the slayer clones. They seemed to feel the hunger full force, and eventually it overwhelmed all sensibilities. That's what had happened with the Haley clone. She had been instructed to bring the slayer, Stephanie Thompson, in for study, but then she just snapped.

And the emotions of the original slayer were there, buried. Sometimes they came to the surface, exploded in strange ways. He'd had to destroy every single clone that had so far been created from a slayer.

So Da'asra continued to probe his pet slayers. He was actually coming to enjoy the time he spent with them, though he would never tell the Leader that. It was not causing pain that gave him that thrill. He actually tried to minimize the pain he caused, seeking only to find answers with minimal harm to the subjects. This challenge, though, the puzzle that these slayers represented, was almost as enjoyable as devouring the meat of the cattle on this lush Earth. Feeling the sensations of the animal that had inhabited the body, exploring the totality of its being and knowing that now he, Da'asra, was all that the creature had ever been. There was power in that.

His time with the slayers was a different sort of power. What happened to them, the tests he conducted on them...all was at his whim and will, and he felt the responsibility strongly. At times, he even found himself wanting to speak to one of these slayers. He found their thought processes...stimulating.

He caught himself. _Do I find these slayers more interesting than my own people?_

 _No,_ he assured himself. _That is impossible._

When The People - any Leviathan knew that _they_ were the only people worthy of the name - had been deposed by the inferior _cattle_ that roamed so freely over the lush land, the Leader had sworn that one day the people would break out of Purgatory and claim their rightful inheritance. Millennia they had waited, scheming and planning; now, at last,their day had come.

Da'asra knew that the slayer clones were the key to the Leader's great plans. They would usher in the golden age of the Leviathan.

The Leader had said it so well:

_We are Hungry things. Filled with an ever-present need. Ageless and patient. We can afford to wait them out, these pitiful...delicious...sacks of meat. We sit and watch, waiting, until the cattle let down their guard. And then…we feast._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me time to get this chapter right. So here it is, my present for Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day to all of my readers. I hope you enjoyed the view into what the Leviathans are planning. Reviews are always welcome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fool for the Woman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/742228) by [TheYmp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYmp/pseuds/TheYmp)




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